


Sketches of Islamabad (episodes 11 & 12)

by q_19



Category: Homeland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2790524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/q_19/pseuds/q_19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>musings on season 4. some fill-in-the-blanks, additional scenes, post-eps etc.</p>
<p>this is now just s4e11 and s4e12. (s4e1-s4e10 will be separate, was too difficult to add to the start)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 4.11.1

**Author's Note:**

> changed things up again, the other way was too confusing even for me. 
> 
> so this is now just s4e11 and s4e12 together. s4e1-s4e10 will be separate to make it clearer for everyone.

4.11.1

It's like the actual ground underneath her has cracked, leaving her shaky on the earth, her foundation broken. Carrie keeps hearing Maggie say the words over and over again.

Dad died last night.

She thinks it must be true but it doesn't feel real. Especially with everything else that's happened, the attack on the embassy, the empty station, Quinn on the loose with a kill order on his head. All the death, it's all suddenly surreal, can't possibly be happening.

Carrie's sitting on her couch, looking at the computer. Thinks about calling Maggie back but can't, not yet. Maybe when the ice in her chest isn't so constricting. Or when she's sorted through her list of regrets.

If she'd been on the transport she could have been there by then, maybe even seen him that night. Fuck, if she'd never fucking come to Islamabad at all, ran away from her family, her responsibilities, she could have been around for the last year of his life.

She briefly thinks of Saul, her other father figure. Wonders where he is now, considers calling him but knows he's in no condition for her to lean on right now.

And it's not Saul who she really wants to talk to anyhow, but Carrie's trying her best not to give in to the thought. Because Quinn's fucking pissed off at her and has every right to be. At this point he won't give two shits about her problems, she thinks. And yet she's still sitting there, looking at the German woman's phone number in her hand.

Dad's dead, she thinks yet again. As if thinking it on repeat will make it seem more real. She tries to remember the last time she saw him and realizes how long it's been since she's even thought of him.

I'm a fucking terrible person, Carrie thinks. She's failed her colleagues, her friends, her family. Why the fuck didn't Quinn just tell her so in the first place? Instead of pussyfooting around it, barely saving her from herself in the end.

And now her dad is dead and she hasn't seen him in a year. She's off kilter, vaguely understands she's still in shock. Realizes it's been less than half an hour since she called Maggie. Impossible, she thinks. She's frozen in time.

Carrie looks at the number again, glances at her phone on her lap. Picks it up with a disembodied hand, dials without letting herself think about it.

It goes to voicemail and suddenly Carrie doesn't know what to say, starts to stumble on her words.

"Um... Quinn, it's, well, it's uh, me. Something happened," she stammers tearfully, feeling ridiculous for calling him, wishing she had just hung up before leaving a message. "And, um. I guess I wanted to talk to you. But you probably don't want to talk to me and I deserve that."

And now the whole idea has gone to shit, she can feel the next batch of tears start to overflow, knows she must sound pitiful on the message. All she can do now is finish it off quick, Carrie thinks.

"So.. fuck. This was a bad idea," she finishes quickly. "But call me. If you can. Please."

Carrie hangs up and immediately feels like an idiot. Just another thing she fucked up, she thinks. And now she's made herself look pathetic to Quinn's German girlfriend too, she realizes. Which shouldn't matter. But somehow definitely does.

Fuck, she thinks again. Stares at her wall, cries another round of regrets.

*

Quinn's mind is entirely on soldering perfect wiring when Astrid enters, his focus absolute.

"Your girlfriend left you a message," she says a bit snappishly. "To call her. She sounded upset."

His concentration instantly broken, Quinn looks up at her, wonders what Carrie could be up to now, does his best not to react to the barbed girlfriend comment. But it's hard not to notice how often he gets accused of this. Sometimes he thinks there must be a neon sign in his chest announcing this fact to everyone but himself.

"Well, she's used to getting her way," he says brusquely, trying to turn his attention back to the device.

"I don't think it was that," Astrid replies.

And of course that's all it takes to set his mind off course, away from the bomb, on a collision course to his own personal source of life-destroying trouble. What the hell could Carrie be calling him about after the fucking shitshow in the parking garage? Despite what he'd said to Astrid, it wasn't like Carrie to play the sobbing maiden - it isn't how she rolls.

So he knows something is up, tries not to let himself think through all the reasons she could be upset enough to leave him a message when she knows exactly how pissed he is with her. But he knows it is futile, was having a hard enough time not thinking about her even before he knew she'd called.

Astrid asks him about the bomb, and he tells her he's going to get Haqqani to come to it. He notices she never asks him about the danger of the job, hasn't once expressed any concerns about what he's doing. Quinn wonders if it's because of an uninformed belief in his abilities, if she thinks he really can escape an entire country of ISI agents and military death squads after blowing Haqqani to kingdom come. Not that he's mentioned that part but she knows the ISI is looking for him and he thinks she should understand what that means. But in reality, he knows Carrie's probably right. Once he's killed Haqqani he'll be an abandoned enemy agent in a foreign country. One against thousands, most likely picked off on his way to the border and then eating a bullet one way or another.

Quinn tries to focus back on the task at hand but now he can't shake the question, wonders what happened. Thinks it has to have been really bad for Carrie to call. Fuck, he thinks. I'm a fucking headcase.

Finally Astrid leaves the room and he hears her start the shower. Quinn waits for another minute, then swears at himself as he gets up, walks over to the phone. Presses play on the answering machine.

"Um... Quinn, it's, well, it's uh, me," he hears. And it's obvious what Astrid meant, Carrie is clearly upset, stuttering her words out between tear-stained breaths.

"Something happened. And, um. I guess I wanted to talk to you. But you probably don't want to talk to me and I deserve that... So.. fuck. This was a bad idea. But call me. If you can. Please," she finishes abruptly, her voice stripped and raw.

He knows it's not a play, can hear the shake in her speech. But he still hesitates, looks at the answering machine suspiciously. Plays the message again, tries not to let it sting.

But obviously it does. No wonder it's become fucking clear to everyone that he has a soft spot for her.

Which is exactly why Quinn doesn't want to return the call. He's been trying to kill his infatuation with her for what seems like eons, thought he had finally escaped her grasp with this last-ditch solo mission.

But after he carries out his plan the next day he will probably never see her again. And he doesn't want to go to his likely death holding onto any nagging regrets. So he lets himself pick up the phone, dial her number.

Carrie doesn't answer right away and then when she finally does she has to catch her breath before saying hello. Quinn can hear her slightly hyperventilate as she tries to stop crying and immediately he's seized by concern. Frustrated with himself, he thinks he should still be angry at her for being stupid enough to try and grab him. But he can't fucking help but forget all that shit as soon as he realizes something big must have went down.

"Carrie?" he asks cautiously. "Are you okay? What happened?

She's still trying to get enough breaths in to talk, takes her a few more seconds to push back the tears.

"No," she finally says. "My dad died."

He had no idea what she was going to say but he had definitely not been expecting that. And now Quinn's almost glad she called but has no idea what to say. And then he thinks fuck, she could have been home by now, should have been safe, with her family. But is here, chasing him instead, pissing him off at every turn, trying vainly to save his sorry ass.

In the end he realizes he hasn't said anything at all and Carrie is talking again.

"Fuck, forget it," she says with a teary huff. "I get it. You're pissed at me. You didn't have to call, I'm hanging up, forget I left that message. It was a mistake."

"Wait, don't," he finally manages. "Shit, Carrie. I just don't know what to say. I'm sorry. I know how much he meant to you."

It feels awkward to bring out his already raw heart, beaten from recent losses. He'd already put it behind the emotional wall, on ice for the mission at hand.

Carrie doesn't reply but doesn't hang up either. He can hear her crying softly, her tears splashing up against the wall, feels it eroding away.

"Do you need to talk?" he asks, feeling both inane and nervous, kicks himself mentally for being such a pussy.

Carrie takes a deep breath and he can hear her trying to shut off the tears.

"I don't know what I need," she finally says. "I feel fucking unhinged. Like I'm drifting. I don't know why I called you, though. Like you want to talk to me right now."

And that's the problem, he thinks. Because he likes it that she called, that she relies on him. And no matter how angry he is at her, all he wants is for her to be alright. But he doesn't know how to convey any of that to her, not with his emotions tied up in so much darkness and hate.

"Shit, Carrie," he finally says. "You can always call."

Carrie makes a 'yeah right' sound and he can see her in his mind, bites his lip as pictures her alone and sobbing. He knows if he were there he would tuck her in his arms and instantly forget about how annoyed he is with her.

"I should have fucking been there," she continues, a little hitch in her voice. "I haven't seen him in so long. I'm a fucking bad person, Quinn. And you've been trying to tell me that forever now. And now I'm sorry but it's too fucking late. Dad's dead and you're gone and I fucked everything up again."

It's like getting stabbed with his own weapon. Carrie finally sees what he's been wanting her to see and now he just wants to take it all off of her, absolve her of all her sins. Because she's paid enough and doesn't deserve to suffer anymore.

Quinn wants to tell her he thinks she's fucking incredible, that he wouldn't have stuck around for anyone else. But it's obviously something he can't say to Carrie and everything he could say sounds ridiculous. He wants to say he's there for her but it's not true - they both know he could easily be dead by the end of the next day.

And then before he manages to say anything, Carrie's crying again and the line drops dead, leaving him sitting staring dumbly at his phone, still saying Carrie's name into the dial tone.

Quinn's considering calling back when he realizes Astrid's done her shower, has walked back into the room and is looking at him with a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed expression.

"So did she get what she wants?" she asks with just the hint of sharpness.

Quinn looks at her, shakes his head tersely, tries to erase the emotion from his eyes.

Astrid gives him a suspicious, knowing look.

"What does she mean to you?" she asks.

He shakes his head again, averts his gaze.

"Just someone I work with," he replies, realizing exactly how stupid it sounds.

Astrid gives him a withering look and he knows he deserves it.

"But you did call her," she persists.

Quinn flicks his eye contact back, tries to look disinterested. Knows he's failed when he sees Astrid's expression.

"So she's a friend," he finally mutters. "Or was. Before she tried to have me abducted in the garage."

He tries to play it cool but Astrid refuses to be deflected, clearly doesn't buy his attempt at icy indifference.

"I never though I would see you so attached," she says with just a hint of accusation.

"Don't say that," Quinn replies, annoyed the conversation has taken this route, thinks he's never had this kind of issue with Astrid before.

But then again that was all before the walking disaster known as Carrie fucking Mathison appeared his life.

"Because it's true?" Astrid replies sharply. "It's what made us work, Peter. Well as far as it ever did work for us. Detachment, on both ends. Because it's all you could ever give. But this, this is something different."

Quinn groans internally because he knows she's right - Carrie makes him lose his composure, do things he would have never imagined himself doing.

He looks at Astrid, tries to put a hard expression back on, feels a twitch in his jaw as he tries to appear unaffected by the conversation.

"We're not talking about Carrie anymore," he says in a low growl, cursing to himself as Astrid gives him a smug look and a long stare, knowing she won the round.

Then finally she walks away but not before looking pointedly at him one more time, then glancing over at the half-formed bomb.

"This must mean a lot for you to do this to her," she says with sudden seriousness. "I never thought I would see you care this much about someone."

With that she walks off, leaving Quinn sitting alone in the dark with a half-finished bomb and a partly obliterated heart, thinking conflicted thoughts about the object of his attachment.


	2. 4.11.2

4.11.2

Carrie leaves the German embassy woman’s place in a huff, wonders who the fuck gave Quinn’s German bitch the right to question her faith in him. 

She gets in the embassy SUV, thinks to herself that the real question is which Quinn they are talking about - the homicidal time bomb currently ticking down or the guy sick of killing, trying to escape the endless cycle of death. 

Because she has a lot of faith in the latter Quinn, the one she’s gotten to know in the past two years. And Carrie thinks it’s appropriately ironic that she has to do this for him now because of everything he’s been telling her all along. He made his own bed, she thinks. And now I’m going to make him fucking sleep in it.

And actually she has a perverse burning faith in the other Quinn too, knows he has exactly the skills to pull off the op, take out Haqqani. But the hard part comes after - alone in a hostile environment with everyone trying to kill you. And then after that too, when the burn of vengeance fades and he’s left with more deaths on his hands.

Despite what the German woman said - her little story of Quinn wanting out but never going through with it - Carrie is fairly certain it’s different this time. She didn’t know him before but she knows despair when she sees it. He’s lost an edge since killing that kid, dulled but still lethal. She should never have begged him to come back, should have fucking listened to him for once, taken a look at all the signs. 

She had never seen him like that before but at the time she remembers thinking Quinn’s newfound drinking problem and obvious PTSD were just more annoyances she had to put up with. More obstacles in getting what she wanted out of him. 

Now Carrie realizes she should have been fucking worried about him back then, way before she helped push him off the deep end. But she hadn’t been thinking about him then. And now he’s the only thing she can think of. 

Because he’s right about all of it, she made him come back and now if he dies it’s all on her. And losing both her dad and Quinn in the span of two days is not an option. 

Carrie’s heart freezes for a moment just thinking about it before her phone rings to knock her out of another spiral of regrets. 

It’s Max on the other end, saying something about the drone footage of Haqqani shooting Aayan getting released online. Which should be fucking impossible - the access to that footage limited to only a select few. So even before they tell her that the video was uploaded from the medical school she’s suspicious of what’s going on. 

“It’s not medical students, it’s Quinn,” she says. 

“What?” Max asks, not catching on.

“He’s trying to flush Haqqani out,” she replies, seeing Quinn’s plan laid out in her head.

“Why?” Max asks again, reminding her why he’s the tech guy and not an analyst.

“Because he can’t get in,” Carrie says, feeling her heart begin to pound as she realizes that it’s all about to happen and she only has one chance at this. 

Finally Max gives her the pertinent info about the call to action out front of Haqqani’s hideout and Carrie hollers at her driver to turn the SUV around. Her chest is tight with anticipation and fear, hopes she isn’t too late already.

The traffic starts to pile up as they near the demonstration and Carrie swears to herself - is both pissed off and rather impressed by Quinn’s move. He’s a fucking clever boy, she thinks. It’s a good plan without a lot of ways for it to get screwed up. Right up to the point where Haqqani’s dead and Quinn’s branded a terrorist. Or, more accurately, right up to the point where she gets a step ahead of him and saves him from his own ingenuity. 

Carrie gets out of the car, starts walking towards the protest, every nerve in her body taut, ready to fire. This is it, she thinks. There have been a lot of tense moments since she’s been in Islamabad, but it all suddenly pales compared to the minutes ahead. She holds his life in her hands and nothing is going to make her let go, not even her own desire for revenge or Quinn’s incandescent anger. 

Because she knows exactly what it’s like, when you just don’t care about the personal cost anymore. When you’re past the point of rational thought. It’s why she can’t join him this time - they can’t teeter on the brink together. Someone has to fucking stay on the side of sanity amidst the utter insanity of it all. 

A thousand things run through her head as Carrie pushes through the crowd, scanning for Quinn on nearby balconies. 

And it’s then she realizes it, that there is something in her fate to be up front and close for moments like these. Aayan, Haqqani, her. All tied together by some cosmic string. She was meant to be here, in the middle of it all. Chasing Quinn who’s chasing Haqqani. To save the stubborn motherfucker from himself. Because he would do the same for her. Because she is becoming inordinately desperate about losing him too.

Carrie floats up to the front, hasn’t spotted Quinn yet. And then the gate begins to open and she plays the only card she has left, steps onto a truck and pulls off her headscarf. She can’t be any more conspicuous and she can feel Khan’s eyes on her from just beyond the crowd. 

Time freezes for a moment as she looks out at the crowd. Hundreds of people, packed in tight, a large amount of C4 underneath their feet. Their lives are in the hands of a very angry man and none of them will ever understand why they died.

She thinks of Quinn’s livid eyes. Usually she likes him like that - on edge, alive. Like when he physically stopped her from dropping the bomb on Haqqani. 

Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it Quinn, she thinks as her phone begins to ring. It’s her cue to get off the truck, put the headscarf back on. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” he fires at her. 

She thinks he knows exactly what she’s doing, just doesn’t want to accept it yet. 

“You can’t do this,” she replies, feeling anxiety rise in her chest. 

“Get away from there!” Quinn demands and she thinks he sounds a bit desperate already, tries not to consider the possibility he’s too far gone to make the right choice.

“A bomb goes off they’ll know it’s you,” she tries to explain, knowing it will be no use. 

“Move the fuck away,” he growls back.

“Look around you,” she pleads. “There are three hundred soldiers, you’re completely surrounded, you’ll never get away. There’s no escape.” 

He’s finally quiet for a moment and she knows he’s scanning the area, evaluating the truth of her statement. 

“I don’t wanna lose you,” she says, hoping against hope that he hears what she’s saying. 

“You have no fucking right,” he retorts. 

I have every right, she thinks. And you gave them to me yourself.

“Do you hear me?” she fires back. “I can’t lose you, Quinn.” 

She can hear him breathing on the line, quick and shallow as the SUV exits the compound, drives past her in slow motion. Carrie watches it roll over the grate, involuntarily tenses her shoulders. 

Rationally she knows he won’t do it but when the moment sits in front of her she realizes she hasn’t been breathing, her chest constricted in anticipation. She pictures Quinn’s finger on the trigger, thinks there’s still a chance this is her last minute on earth. She wonders if she really knows him as well as she thinks. And that this is a hell of a way to test her trust in a guy who hates her fucking guts right now.

******

Quinn’s finger flickers just above the button, and he almost wishes for a sudden twitch to make the decision for him. But he knows he’s fooling no one, certainly not himself. The decision was made with the first flash of blonde. 

He can’t quite believe he hasn’t physically exploded from excess emotion. All the fucking anger and despair, the hate... and a hard, bitter type of love. Captured in a freeze frame, the SUV rolling right over the bomb, Carrie a foot away. In the middle of everything, as usual.

He still can’t believe she found a way to stop his plan. Of all the things he had factored in, he hadn’t truly accounted for Carrie. Which, in retrospect, was fucking fatal. 

He had thought she’d give up once he made it hard on her. From what he could see she’d fucking given up on everything else already. But of course he didn’t factor in her lethal stubbornness, her ability to be right at the centre of the action. 

Quinn has to admit she fucking outplayed him. Which just doesn’t happen. 

You have no fucking right! he mentally screams at Carrie as the moment loses all potential energy. Quinn can’t even start to contain the onrush of anger, frustration as the SUV drives off safely.

He stares at the blonde demon he is somehow entangled with. Can’t fathom why the fuck he would ever be so stupid as to tie his emotions up in such a destructive force. 

“Goddamn you, Carrie,” Quinn says, hoping she hears all of his hate, sorrow, frustration, anger. He is fucking emotionally strung out and about to lose his mind. Maybe he’s lost it already. Could have sworn there was an instant he was going to push the button. And another one where he panicked because he thought he had. 

But he doesn’t have time to think about what happened in the tower, the soldier in him kicking into gear. If he’s going to get out he has to move right away and muscle memory gets him going, scanning the streets for an exit, checking out the formation of the soldiers. Although it would fucking serve her right if he still got caught after she fucking stood over his bomb, daring him to really go off the deep end. 

Immediately Quinn sees that Carrie wasn’t lying, the soldiers are fucking everywhere. And he’s sure there’s plainclothes agents in the crowd too. He mentally maps out his planned escape route overtop of what he can see, thinks he will have to definitely make some changes to his plans.

Takes a high route as much as he can, trying to make distance via balconies and rooftops, in and out of buildings, on alert for any hint of recognition. Thinks he’s past the main group of soldiers when someone stops and looks his way for a moment too long. he forces himself not to run, play it calm. Takes a side route, hopes the guy didn’t get enough of a look to confirm. 

Turns a corner and the same guy is getting out his phone. Quinn ducks back before he’s spotted then runs at the guy, straight arms him in the throat and slams him to the ground, punches him hard enough to knock him out. He takes the guy’s cell phone and smashes it, then looks around quickly to find his next move. 

Down the alley, over a wall, up a ladder, across two rooftops to get past three different checkpoints. A soldier turns his way as Quinn scurries across a courtyard and he thinks he’s done for when another soldier spots him scaling a wall and starts to fire. Thankfully the other side of the wall leads to a maze of alleyways and more rooftops to run across.

Finally Quinn finds himself on a deserted roof, takes a moment to sit against the wall. He can just barely hear the Haqqani mob but he thinks he’s relatively safe for now. This is a good as place as any to wait out any lingering ISI guys, he thinks. Or until it’s dark. 

Quinn leans back, lets himself unwind a bit after the tenseness of the day. But all he can think of is how pissed off he is with Carrie. Which doesn’t help relieve the tenseness at all. He can still see her standing there on top of his bomb, daring him to press the button, literally putting her life in his hands. 

And some part of him had badly wanted to call her bluff. To just trigger the bomb and let it all be over. Because if he had made that sacrifice, Quinn’s certain he wouldn’t bother running - and suicide by ISI would be easy enough.

But even just thinking about it had made his gut ache. Carrie, blown to a million pieces, nothing left of her. He remembers his thumb twitching over the trigger, electric with devastating possibility. She had forced that power on him, an ultimatum only Carrie could have concocted. He wonders how sure she was in her gamble, if she held any doubt in him. 

And he just keeps thinking - who the fuck gave her the right to make that choice for him? 

Quinn ignores the tiny voice that says she gained that right when he made the same choice for her. That it was his own fucking fault for letting her get too close. He’s still too fucking pissed off she figured out a way to stop him. He doesn’t often lose. And he had this one perfectly aligned. 

Fucking Carrie he thinks, over and over. 

And then his phone rings. 

******

Carrie still can’t believe it’s over, that she won. Not much of a victory in the grand scheme of things, but after everything they’ve been through she thinks this is the only one that mattered. He’s alive. And hasn’t become a terrorist, another few hundred souls tacked onto his account.

She feels all her pent up emotion empty for an instant. Her mission is done. Quinn may be royally pissed at her for the rest of his life but at least he’ll live. For once she got what she wanted, she thinks. Thank god. 

Carrie’s stirred out of her thoughts as Haqqani drives by and, not quite consciously, she starts to follow the crowd around his vehicle. And then suddenly he’s standing up, out the sunroof, and it’s a surreal, mesmerizing scene. 

A flash in her mind. The drone footage. Aayan, shot in the head. Just a boy, caught in a game he didn’t understand.

Her hand’s on her weapon before she even realizes it. This is the way, she thinks. No collateral damage. Just her. And Haqqani. 

Carrie starts to draw her gun, vaguely realizes she’s not acting rationally anymore. But it’s a once in a lifetime chance, although it comes with an accordingly hefty price.

Cocks it. Wonders if she’s really going to do this. Thinks it’s becoming more and more possible with every step she takes. 

Has just a second to wonder if Quinn will be pissed off. Or just glad to be rid of her finally, through no fault of his own. And he of all people should understand. 

At least she can complete his mission for him, Carrie thinks as she raises the gun. Two last deaths to finish the cycle. 

******

Quinn looks at the phone and of course it’s her. He groans, doesn’t answer. But she calls back and he knows she won’t stop until he picks up. He thinks of her as a human battering ram, just keeps smashing at your defenses until your resolve splinters. 

Which is why she always fucking wins. And it’s really starting to piss him off.

 

But of course he answers the phone on her fourth call. 

“I have something to tell you,” she says brusquely, as if she hadn’t just emotionally destroyed him.

And I have some things to fucking tell you, Quinn thinks. 

“Fuck you, Carrie,” he responds. 

Carrie sighs irritably and he can picture her exactly. There’s a part of him that thinks he could physically hurt her if she were there right now. But mostly he just wants to get her out of his head, not think about everything she just fucked up. 

“No, I mean it,” she replies. “There’s something you need to know.” 

For fuck’s sake, Quinn thinks. What the hell could she be up to now? 

“Well say it then,” he growls. 

“Has to be in person,” she responds. “Not on this line.” 

He thinks she sounds serious, is not jerking him around. And once again he closes his eyes and sighs. 

“I fucking hate you, Carrie,” he says tiredly. 

“I know,” she replies. “But I had to do it. No more dying, Quinn.”

Fuck you, Carrie, he thinks. You had no fucking right. 

“Meet me at the embassy,” she adds. “I’ve made sure you'll get through.” 

What makes her think he’s going to meet her? Right now he could do with never seeing her again. It would be the smartest move by far, he thinks. 

“Quinn?” she asks when he doesn’t respond. 

Go fuck yourself Carrie, he thinks. 

“Quinn?” she asks again after he still doesn’t say anything.

Fuck, he thinks. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Quinn hangs up without answering but knows he’ll meet with her in the end. He just doesn’t want to acknowledge it, admit it. 

Fucking Carrie, he thinks. She always fucking wins.


	3. 4.11.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a bit of play with timing between segments, between this chapter and the last one. but I have faith you'll all figure it out!

4.11.3

She is less than ten seconds away from taking the shot when someone grabs her.

“What the fuck?!” Carrie yells, as she sees that it’s Khan. 

He grips her tightly, his face just an inch away, his sweat nearly mixing with hers. 

“No, no, no,” he says urgently. “Look. Look who’s in the car, Carrie. With Haqqani.” 

Carrie resists the urge to knee him in the nuts and looks just in time to see Dar Adal turn his head towards her. 

Fuck. That asshole, Carrie thinks. Maybe she really should have just fucking let Quinn do it. 

“So what?” she says to Khan. “Fuck Adal. I had a fucking shot and I know you want Haqqani gone too.”

Khan looks at her, appears to be somewhere between angry and surprised. 

“I just saved you from certain death,” he replies indignantly.

“You think I don’t know that?” Carrie yells at him. “You had no fucking right.”

Where’s she heard that before, she thinks to herself. Payback really is a bitch. Fucking karma and all that. 

Khan shakes his head, gives her an exasperated look as he pulls her off to the side of the street, into an alleyway. 

“I’d think you’d be a little more grateful,” he says snappily. “You’re already persona non grata here, nothing would have been done to save you. The crowd would have torn you apart.” 

“Yeah, remember I was there with Sandy when it happened,” she says with as much venom as she can muster. “I’ve seen how this works.” 

Khan sighs, rolls his eyes. 

“Fine, well you’ve lost your chance now. You have to leave the country,” he says angrily. “You were supposed to be on the first flight out. Now you’ve been seen by the whole crowd and there are people that are not pleased about you still being here.” 

“Who?” Carrie snaps. 

“I can’t say,” Khan replies. 

“Well I can’t leave without him,” she fires back.

“Are you not listening?” he asks. “ They are putting your name on the kill list if you are not out in 24 hours. You don’t have a choice, it’s you or him or neither of you..” 

Carrie scowls. 

“I just tried to make that choice, asshole,” she spits at him. “And I still have three days from my government in which to find him. I am going to get him out.” 

Khan stands his ground, his jaw set to stubborn, his eyes an attempted glare. 

“Do you ever listen? In 24 hours every soldier, policeman and ISI agent is going to be trying to find and kill you,” he replies irritably. “Even if you find him they will never let him leave on a US bound flight. He’s on the kill list, remember.” 

Carrie grits her teeth, breathes little infuriated puffs of fire. 

“Listen to me, Khan,” she growls. “I am not leaving this fucking country without him.” 

“It’s not up to you anymore,” Khan replies. “He made that choice when he went AWOL.” 

“Well, I’m not letting him make that choice,” she fires back. “And if you try to arrest me here I will fucking shoot you right now.” 

Khan glances down at the gun she still holds in her right hand and shakes his head, glares at her. 

“You are the most infuriating person I’ve ever met,” he says snappishly. 

“So let him through, give me your word,” Carrie presses, feeling like she is finally getting the upper hand in the conversation. “I’ll get him out and your big problem disappears.” 

“You know I can’t do that,” Khan replies predictably. 

“Yes you can,” she retorts. “You’re a fucking general, Khan. And my only ally here. You’ve helped me for a reason and, one way or another, you’ll probably never fucking see me again after this. Do me this one last thing.”

He’s looking at her suspiciously and Carrie presses the point as she sees him shift from fury to angry resignation. 

“One last favour,” she says. “For everything that got fucked up while I was here. For all the fucking death, all the bullshit on both sides. Just give me this, Khan. It’s the only thing I want.” 

Carrie feels his eyes on her, looks and tries to read the emotion in them. Sees something unexpected hidden in with the anger and frustration. 

“He really means that much to you?” he asks, a bit too sharply. 

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Carrie retorts. 

“Actually, our intelligence suggests that you two don’t get along,” Khan replies snappishly.

Carrie exhales irritably. Thinks how all the fights with Quinn show exactly how much she cares about him. She wouldn’t bother if he didn’t matter. 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she finally says. “Khan, listen. I don’t beg but I’m begging you now. Help me get him out or I will fucking die trying.”

She can feel the fire in Khan’s glare, sees her salvation in his anger. There’s only one reason he could be that pissed off, she thinks. 

“I’ll do what I can,” he says in a terse, clipped voice. 

Carrie lets out a breath, almost hits the ground with the flow of relief through her body. Khan holds out an arm and steadies her for a moment until she feels her head even out.

“Thanks, Khan,” she finally says breathlessly. “You don’t know how much this means to me.” 

Carrie takes one last look at Khan, sees a look of concern and anger in his dark brown eyes and thinks that in another universe they could be friends or lovers instead of wary adversaries. She takes a step towards him, reaches up and brushes a kiss against his cheek. Then she quickly turns and walks away down the dusty alley, pulling out her phone to dial Quinn’s number.

He doesn’t answer on the first three tries but she keeps at it, knows he will eventually cave. 

On the fourth try she finally hears the click of a connected call, breathes out a lungful of tense relief. 

“I have something to tell you,” she says.

******

Quinn looks at his phone in disgusted resignation. He flashes back to that other fateful call, the one that sent him back to Islamabad, the one that propelled him towards this state of explosive agitation. 

He reflexively wonders what Carrie could possibly have to tell him after fucking him over so badly, then mentally slaps himself for giving it any thought at all. 

Quinn wants to believe it’s just Carrie manipulating him again but he already knows it doesn’t matter - he will try to make the meet. Because he heard the desperation in her voice and it somehow slivered through his hardened emotional defenses. Like it always does.

He tries to let it go with a frustrated breath, then gathers himself enough to head towards the embassy. 

Standing up, he looks over the side of the building he’s on top of and sees that there are now soldiers everywhere, patrolling the streets, clearly looking for someone. 

Fuck. She better know what she’s fucking doing, he thinks. All he has to go on is Carrie’s word that she can get him through. And he doesn’t even really want to get through at this point, wants to stay and fucking find Haqqani before he gets back to Afghanistan. Fry him, then get out. Most likely in a body bag, but hey, everything has its price. 

None of which will happen if he gets grabbed by the ISI, well except for the part about the body bag.

So despite Carrie’s assurances, Quinn tries to stay out of sight by scaling buildings, avoiding the streets. He takes a unpredictable route, trying his best to remain in alleyways, doubling back often to make sure he isn’t being tailed. And it’s not until he’s getting closer to the diplomatic enclave that he’s finally spotted climbing a fire escape by a soldier who ducks into the alley to take a piss. 

The started soldier’s hand flies to his comm and he says something quickly in Urdu, starts to reach for his weapon. Quinn keeps climbing, even though he’ll never make it to the top before the soldier can draw his gun. This is it, he thinks. What a pathetic way to go out. 

A response comes from the soldier’s comm and Quinn looks down just in time to see the soldier put his weapon away, hear the stream of urine hitting the ground. 

The soldier looks up at him again with an indiscernible expression and a nod of his head. 

Classic Carrie, Quinn thinks. Somehow effective even in the worst situations. 

After that he stops being so careful, stays away from main streets but doesn’t bother with scaling buildings, hiding in alleyways. Soldiers see him and let him walk by unaccosted, a second suspicious glance the only evidence they know who he is. 

Everything’s fine until he is nearly at the embassy, considering how he will enter, wondering if it’s safe to just walk in the front gate. Quinn’s walking by a soldier who’s already given him the double-take when he hears the comm squawk, and the soldier looks at him again, and then suddenly reaches for his weapon. 

Quinn feels his instincts take over, runs and heads directly for the last safe zone he had spotted on his way. He hears the soldier calling out on his comm, sees all the soldiers in the area start to congregate towards his location. 

Shit, he mutters under his breath. Obviously whatever deal Carrie had going with the ISI is now dead in the water and he needs to move fast if he’s going to avoid the same fate. 

Quinn throws one last glance at the embassy, its monstrous shape looming in the near distance. He wonders which beam of light represents Carrie, impatiently waiting for him to show up at the gate. A mental image of her flashes in his mind, the look on her face when she’s pissed at him and he feels his rage, still just barely underneath the surface. 

Fuck you Carrie, he mentally screams as he turns away from what may be his last chance to get out. He can’t believe she even convinced him to come, to consider the possibility of giving in - to forget momentarily how fucking angry he still is. With her, with himself, with everything. 

I fucking tried it your way Carrie, he thinks. And look where it got me.

He looks around, sees the soldiers closing in on him. Turns and slips down an alleyway, finds the scalable building he noticed on his way there, climbs into an empty apartment, runs through the building to an emergency exit that spits him out into another alley. Quinn walks by two workers smoking shisha and ducks into another building, runs up the stairs until he gets to the roof. 

From his rooftop perspective he can see soldiers closing in, estimates his chances of jumping the next few roofs and then makes the leap as he sees the soldiers start talking to the hookah smokers.

They’re heading in to search all the buildings by the time he’s exited the last building in the alleyway and headed towards his only place of refuge left, wondering when Carrie will figure out that her influence is finally gone and that he isn’t going to show up at her door after all. 

*  
Quinn closes the door to his safe room and lets himself drop to the ground, sweaty and out of breath. There had been a couple close calls along the way to the dingy basement space he had rented upon arrival in Islamabad. Just good habit to have a personal safe house, a place to go if everything went to shit. It’s like he knew it was going to happen, he thinks. Probably because everything in his life has gone to shit since he met Carrie fucking Mathison. 

At least now everything’s gone to shit for her too, he thinks. Once she figures out that Khan’s out of power she will have to get out. He lets himself wonder for a moment how the fuck she got Khan to agree to a deal in the first place - not an easy task considering he’s on the fucking ISI kill list. Quinn shakes his head, knows he shouldn’t be thinking about it - he’s seen the way Khan looks at Carrie and doesn’t want to entertain the idea of how far she had to go to strike a deal. 

Regardless, it’s a moot point now, just more water under the bridge. And now Quinn’s still here and still fucking angry. He thinks maybe Astrid can help him get some intel on Haqqani’s location but he doesn’t want to risk going there and being found by Carrie again. He racks his brain, trying to think of anyone he could contact, any wheel he could grease, anything to get another shot at Haqqani, maybe exit the world with some semblance of personal satisfaction. 

Quinn closes his eyes, tries to let himself relax for a moment. He’s been tense, tired, and slightly unstable. A lot has happened in the day and his head feels like it might burst from stress and lack of sleep. He thinks he hasn’t felt this low since the last time he was state side. Which is a stupid thing to think of, he realizes as he suddenly flashes back to Sandy’s death, sees him getting torn from the vehicle. He hasn’t had that particular flashback recently and it’s even more intense than he remembers. 

Quinn feels his heart begin to race just as the flashback changes to the embassy attack and he watches as Haqqani drive the knife into Fara’s back. And then suddenly he’s in the tower again, sees Carrie standing on his bomb as Haqqani drives past, feels his twitchy finger on the trigger, the sweat beading on his brow. 

Each scene just throws more fuel on the inferno burning in his chest and he feels the hate seep through his veins as it’s pumped through his molten heart. Quinn looks around and thinks back to the last time he was in this dingy room, examines the cuts on his knuckles, remembers the sound of Farhad Ghazi’s blood splattering on the floor as he extracted information from the ISI thug. 

This is who I am, he thinks. Someone who tortures people, kills innocents. No wonder all his fucking attempts to get out always fail. This is all he is, a fucking hired gun, a hollow shell of death. 

And if that’s all he is then he may as well go out with a bang, one more kill before he surrenders to the end he knows he deserves. 

Quinn hunkers down in a dirty corner and stares at the copper-stained ground, feels himself disintegrate into unconnected atoms of hatred. 

Carrie, Haqqani, himself - a perfect spiral of anger, abhorrence, death. Exactly what he needs to fuel his rage, enough to take him to the end. 

Sorry Carrie, he thinks. It’s hate, not love that makes the world go around.


	4. 4.11.4

4.11.4

Carrie stands outside the door biting her lower lip. Takes a deep breath in before giving it three sharp knocks. Isn’t surprised when she doesn’t hear anyone coming but does see the nearby window curtain move just a twitch.

She bangs on the door again, this time with the side of her fist. 

“I know you’re in there,” she shouts. “And I’m not leaving until I talk to you.” 

Still no sound of movement and the door remains shut so she bangs on the door again, feels it shudder against the force of her knocking. 

Carrie’s switched to her other hand by the time the door finally opens and is relieved it only took fifteen minutes of incessant noise to get her the opening she needs. 

Astrid answers the door with an etched-in scowl, one of hostility-infused disdain.

“What do you want?” she snarls, keeping the door as closed as possible. 

Carrie scowls back, feels angry anxiety fill her chest. 

“I want to get him out of here,” she snaps. “I’d think you would want the same thing.” 

Astrid’s expression doesn’t change and Carrie can feel the contempt rolling off of the German woman. She’s tempted to just draw her gun and threaten Astrid a bit in order to wipe the self-satisfied expression off her face. But she’s caused enough international incidents for the week, Carrie thinks. There had to be another way. 

“You think you know what I want?” Astrid sneers. 

“I hope you want him alive,” Carrie tries. “And I hope you care enough about him to at least hear me out.” 

Astrid looks at her suspiciously and gives her the full up and down. Carrie keeps up her determined eye contact, makes it nearly impossible for Astrid to ignore her demand until finally Astrid opens the door and lets her in.

They stand just inside the doorway, the air between them charged with tension. 

“So what do you want from me?” Astrid asks irritably. 

“Help,” Carrie says, as desperately as she can. “ISI has put me on the kill list. I have a way out but my own government is only giving me another day before I have to be out of the country. I’d fucking stay but my dad’s funeral is in a week and my sister would murder me if I missed it. And you’re the only one left in this country that cares about him. I have nowhere else to turn.” 

Astrid is looking at her with some sort of disdain but still appears to be listening so Carrie forges on, lets it all out. 

“I don’t know how to find him and I can’t get him on any of our flights anyhow. I had a deal to get him out but now my contact at the ISI has been cut from power,” she explains. “So please, if you can, get him out. I know you don’t owe me anything. But if he means anything to you, please do this for him.”

Astrid scowls, shakes her head.

“You were the one that screwed this all up in the first place,” she says. “By getting in the way.”

“He was walking into certain death. Or worse,” Carrie argues. “He was trying to commit suicide by murder. How he’s feeling he probably thought it was a fitting way to go out.” 

“You can’t stop him,” Astrid replies. “And he doesn’t need your help. Peter can take care of himself.” 

Well that’s mostly true, Carrie thinks. Considering he’s been taking care of her without her even realizing it this whole time. And that’s exactly why she needs to be there for him now that he’s unwilling to save himself. 

“But he’s not himself right now,” Carrie pleads. “Something like this happened after Sandy was killed and I wasn’t able to help him then. I have to do something now.” 

“You think you know him so well,” Astrid says with a huff of disbelief. “But you don’t know the first thing about him if you think he can be stopped.” 

Carrie pauses, thinks it could be true that she doesn’t know anything about who Quinn really is. And maybe she only just realized how much he means to her, that losing him after all he’s done for her would destroy what little humanity she has left. 

“Maybe I don’t know him,” she concedes. “But I know I owe him. I owe him my sanity, my heart, my fucking life. He came back here for me when it was the last place he should have been. And he stuck with me when I was really far gone.” 

Astrid doesn’t reply, gives her the up and down look again. And Carrie knows this is it, the moment the decision is going to be made. So she gives it her all, everything she can possibly offer.

“And maybe you don’t know him as well as you think. Because I did stop him, at least for the moment. And now I just need to get him out,” Carrie pleads. “So do this for him. Because I think he really wants out this time and he doesn’t give a shit about the consequences. And if you don’t care about him, don’t care that he’s going to end up dead or tortured then do it for me and I will owe you, Whatever you need, whenever you need it. I know a lot of people a lot of places that owe me favours in kind.” 

It’s not much but it’s all she has to offer. Astrid looks a bit surprised to hear that Quinn has been stopped, a look of suspicion cutting across her face. But she appears to soften with Carrie’s plea, seems to actually consider the offer. 

Carrie maintains deliberate eye contact, infuses her gaze with all the desperation she can manage. She hates being at someone else’s mercy, especially this woman who knows too much about Quinn and who clearly hates her guts. But Carrie also knows this is it, her last best chance to help Quinn get out. Even if it takes begging a woman she can’t stand.

Finally Astrid scowls, breathes out an exasperated huff. 

“Fine. I’ll do what I can to get him out,” she says sharply. 

Carrie lets out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s holding, feels relief pour out of her lungs, fails to fight off the tears beginning to form. 

“Oh my god,” she says with a gasp of gratefulness. “Thank you. I’ll never forget this. Get him out of here and I owe you for life. Anything you ever need. I swear.” 

Astrid gives her another studied look, as if she’s assessing the truth of Carrie’s statement. Then, apparently satisfied with what she sees, she just nods and opens the door to let Carrie out. 

Carrie steps outside, hears the door close behind her, takes a moment to gather herself before heading back towards the embassy and preparing for her own flight out. She closes her eyes, says a silent prayer. 

Please come home, Quinn, she says to the clouds. I’ve outstayed my welcome, I’ve looked for you everywhere, I fucking groveled at your girlfriend’s feet. I’m at the fucking end. And I just need you to come back. 

******

Two days of hiding in the dark, reaching out to the last few contacts on his phone have gotten him nowhere. Just rumours of Haqqani’s hideouts, safehouses - none of which panned out in any way on the few occasions he managed to leave his own little safe room and search for intel under the cover of night.  
 Quinn doesn’t know if his sources have gone cold because Haqqani is gone or if he’s the equivalent of an untouchable now that he’s on the kill list. He hasn’t even been able to figure out if Carrie is still in the country but he thinks she must be long gone. Especially considering her man Khan is now clearly out of favour - her life would be in danger if she stayed. 

Still, knowing Carrie, he knows better than to make any assumptions. So he’s avoided any familiar places until now, imagines that Carrie would have Astrid’s place staked out in an attempt to locate him. 

But Quinn’s exhausted all his other resources and he knows he probably only has another day to find Haqqani before he’s moved out of the country. And so he finds himself skulking about outside of Astrid’s, checking for lookouts, scouts, any indication that her place is being watched. 

He doubts German Intelligence has anything on Haqqani’s whereabouts but he has to at least try. Because he’s been sitting in a puddle of hate for days now, unable to see beyond the need to kill. And it’s almost felt good to be in that headspace, where he is pleased to bring death to those who deserve it - terrorists, criminals, murderers.

Himself. 

It’s been a long time, he realizes distantly. A long time since he’s been comfortable with this version of himself, the one tied up in the endless spiral of war and death. But he’s there now and he doesn’t see that there’s any way out this time. 

Quinn enters through the window, wakes Astrid up with his hand clamped over her mouth. 

Astrid is tense for just a moment before she realizes it’s him and he feels her relax a bit. Then she reaches over to turn on the lamp and gives him an irritated look. 

“Jesus, Peter,” she says tersely. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for information,” he replies. “All my other sources have suddenly run dry.”

Astrid gives him a once-over, purses her lips and sits up in bed.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says. “Your girlfriend was here looking for you, ISI is probably staking this place out.” 

Quinn shakes his head. 

“Carrie wouldn’t have been followed. She’s too good at her job,” he replies sharply. “But what the fuck is she still doing here?” 

Astrid gives him a considered look and he tries to suppress the little burn in his chest that threatens to expose his weakness. 

“She wants to get you out,” Astrid says, with a questioning look. 

He knows he’s being tested, tries to keep the fire out of his eyes when he answers. 

“She just feels guilty about bringing me back here,” he says with a shake of his head. “With Carrie, it’s only ever about Carrie. So fuck that, I’ve played her game enough times to know I’ll always lose.”

Astrid tilts her head, nods as if she’d already guessed what he’d say. 

“I don’t think it’s guilt. Something about an obligation,” she says. “She thinks she owes you.” 

Quinn looks at her blankly, wonders why the fuck Astrid would have even talked to Carrie at all. Then remembers exactly how persuasive Carrie can be. 

“And there’s something else too,” Astrid continues, a knowing glint in her eye. 

Quinn frowns, wonders how the fuck their conversation got there in the matter of seconds, tries not to think about what Astrid’s insinuating. Because it isn’t going to get him anywhere - he was fucking doomed the day he met her and now’s the time to walk away. Hopefully in a little bit of a blaze of glory. 

“She’s just playing you,” he replies. “It’s what she does. There’s never something else with Carrie, it’s always just about her shit.” 

Astrid raises her eyebrows, gives him a smug look. 

“If you say so,” she says with a shrug. 

He doesn’t like the way she says it, like she knows something he doesn’t. Wonders how the hell Carrie brought Astrid over to her side. He would have thought that fucking impossible. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, annoyed because he’s been set up. 

“She’s on the kill list too. And still in the country,” Astrid says, like it’s no big deal. 

And of course, against all his fucking rationality, Quinn’s chest instantly freezes and concern ices over his heart. 

“Why?” he asks, still trying to register what Astrid is telling him. 

“She didn’t say. But I heard it was because she tried to take out Haqqani at that rally,” she replies. 

He thinks his head might explode. Fucking Carrie. 

“Why the fuck would she do that?” he snaps. “Why did she even stop me then if she was going to fucking end up dead either way?” 

Astrid gives him another unreadable look, tries to look in his eyes. 

“How did she stop you?” she asks. “I don’t think that’s ever happened before.” 

Quinn exhales sharply, thinks well that’s because it never has. Then thinks how fucking pissed off he still is about it. 

Then he realizes that Astrid is waiting for a response and it doesn’t appear there’s any way out of giving her some semblance of an answer. 

“She stood on top of my fucking bomb,” he finally says.

Astrid raises her eyebrows again. 

“That was quite the choice knowing where you were at,” she replies. 

And Quinn realizes he hadn’t quite thought of it that way, that Carrie would have been wondering if he’d press the button anyway. If he was too far gone. If he would make the choice he stopped her from making. 

Because to him it had been clear from the moment he saw her there. He’d lost. And he was fucking pissed about it. But he wasn’t that far gone. 

But she didn’t know that. 

“Would you have done it?” he asks. 

“Certainly not,” Astrid answers snidely. “I value my life.” 

“And I don’t?” Quinn retorts. 

“Obviously not,” she replies. “Not if you’re still here with the ISI after you. They want you dead, Peter and you’re still romping about town trying to kill a heavily protected man. Yet that’s not my choice to make for you. It never has been. But you let her make that choice for you. And she is still here, risking her own life to get you out.” 

“Fuck!” he responds. “She fucking got to you too. She’s just trying to fucking manipulate me, this is exactly what Carrie fucking does.” 

Astrid gives him that funny look again, like he’s being purposely obtuse. 

“And maybe she actually cares about you,” she replies. “Have you even considered that possibility, Peter?”

Carrie doesn’t have the capacity to fucking care about him, about anyone, Quinn thinks. But he knows he’s not being fair, that she once did - it was just lost in the shuffle of all that shit with Brody, the baby, Sandy, the craziness of Islamabad. That he’d only come back to Islamabad because he thought he could help her figure it all out. And that she had been coming back to it, he had seen it happening, felt something start to shift with her. 

And then he’d lost his shit, gotten thrown back down the rabbit hole. Where it was easy to stay resentful of her inability to see everything he’s tried to do for her. Where killing was the best solution to most problems. Where he did cold hard things - executing prisoners, torturing detainees. Where his fucking feelings didn’t matter. 

And of course she fucking sees it now, just as he was gone, done, ready to un-exist. 

“So now what?” Quinn asks. 

“I promised her I would get you out,” Astrid says wryly, like she can’t believe it herself. 

“You what?!” he exclaims, genuinely shocked. He has known Astrid for a long time and cannot imagine what Carrie could have done to get this to happen. She is not a woman of favours and, as far as he could tell, didn’t give a shit about anyone, including him. 

“What the hell did she say to you?” 

“Well she asked if I would rather you be dead or alive,” she replies. 

“You never cared if I was around - you made that bed a long time ago,” he retorts. “I thought you wouldn’t shed a single fucking tear over me. I think you said that once.”

“What could I do, Peter?” Astrid replies, more forcefully than he expects. “You kept disappearing and I had to make myself not care, let you make your own choices. Because otherwise it wouldn’t have worked - you didn’t care about anything other than the job.” 

“So what’s different now?” Quinn asks, thinking that everything she said was true but that he didn’t really give a shit anymore. Not like he needed more evidence that he was a shitty person.

“Well, she made me a deal,” Astrid says. “And I think you love her.” 

Instantly he feels the headache come on, the one that pulsates at his temple every time he’s accused of being in love with Carrie. 

“Actually,” Quinn replies. “You don’t know exactly how much I fucking hate her right now.” 

“Only because you love her, Peter,” she replies with a smirk. “I imagine it’s obvious to everyone but you. I have never seen you so affected by someone - and we have known each other a long time.”

And Quinn’s still with it enough to know that he is only so pissed off because Astrid’s right - he has never, ever, let himself be so affected by another human being. And he’s resisted examining exactly why it is she makes him so crazy. Because he doesn’t want to admit it; thinks of a thousand reasons why he can’t be in love with Carrie Mathison. 

Astrid looks at him pointedly but when he doesn’t say anything she continues talking, speaking in a tone he’s never heard from her before.    
“So I’m doing this for her because really it’s for you,” she says, a bit sadly. “Because I always did care about you, Peter, no matter our attempts at emotional detachment. And I never thought you’d actually get out but I’m starting to think you really do want it. So this is it, your one chance. Courtesy of your annoying blonde American girlfriend.”

Fucking Carrie, Quinn thinks. She just doesn’t ever fucking give up. 

And then he thinks about her shooting Haqqani in the middle of that crowd, getting torn to pieces, the same as Sandy. And a chill creeps over him, pulls at his gut, reminds him that he’d had the chance and he hadn’t pushed the trigger. Fucking Carrie. He shouldn’t be thinking about her, is trying to still cultivate the hate. Because he doesn’t want to believe in the chance. Thinks it’s too risky, unlikely. Easier just to stay with what he knows. 

But now that he’s thinking about her, he can’t push her out of his head. Thinks she shouldn’t still be there, not if she’s on the list. Wonders how the fuck she’s going to get herself out, tells himself she can take care of herself. Thinks of how desperate she had to have been to manage to get Astrid to help her. 

And then he starts to wonder. Wonder if it's possible. If Carrie might actually have cared enough about his sorry ass to risk her own life. If it wasn’t just a guilty conscience that made her stay, that she might have really been worried about him. Quinn tries to turn the thoughts off but can’t help himself. The possibilities push through his mental defenses in the tiniest beam of hope.

And attached to that shimmer of light is the idea that there isn’t only one way out. That there’s another option. Possibly one with Carrie at the other end, safe and whole. Waiting for him. 

It’s not something he’s ever let himself really consider. But he sees its reflection in the emotion in Astrid’s eyes and starts to feel the shroud of death drop away from his body, his mind. 

She needs to be gone tomorrow, he thinks. Her dad’s funeral is in a week. 

Quinn bites his lower lip, looks resignedly at Astrid. 

“How long until you can get me out?” he asks. 


	5. 4.12.1

4.12.1

Carrie stands facing a crowd all in black, talking about extremes, about the crazy love, about the demons they both lived with, the ones she still carries with her. 

She looks out over everyone, absorbs the sadness and the love that emanate from all these people there to honour the man that raised her, that taught her how to be. And there’s a quiver in her chest when she tells them how, for the past year, he raised her daughter. That he was there for Frannie when she couldn’t be. 

It’s hard to say it to all her relatives, old family friends. Admit that she had abandoned her own kid, that she had lost her capacity to love, that she hadn’t been around for the first year of Frannie’s life and the last year of her dad’s. 

But Carrie thinks of what the man in the park told her, that her dad had never lost hope in her, had never stopped believing that she would come back to herself, be able to take over. 

And she thinks of everything she hid away from in Kabul, all the soul-numbing destruction of Islamabad, the stark lessons she learned along the way. It was a fucking hard course. And she didn’t exactly take to it easily. 

No, she needed it shoved in her face, beaten into her stubborn heart by the only other person who never stopped believing in her. If only she had the clarity to see it back then. 

If only he was fucking here now. 

Carrie stops herself from wondering where he is, knows it only ends up spiraling into destructive images of blackened craters, dingy torture chambers. She tells herself to focus, to not fuck it up. 

Stop thinking about Quinn, she thinks. This is for dad. 

“I don’t think Frannie will remember him. But I’m taking over now, dad,” she finishes, barely holding off the tears. “And I’ll remember for her.”

Carrie walks off the dais, takes Frannie in her arms and feels her dad there with her, proud as always. And she tries not to think about all the things she’s done in the past year that would have disappointed him - tries to stay in the present, with who she is now. And of course that pulls her back to Quinn, to everything he tried to say to her, do for her. 

The service goes on but her mind drifts far away to a place of violence and pain, of shattered hearts and broken minds. The place where she found herself at last - but lost something of equal importance. 

*

Carrie’s outside awkwardly hugging long-forgotten relatives, old family friends. Saying the expected words, grateful for her well-honed ability to fake it, to be miles away yet still keeping up appearances. Because her head is far from the clean green space in front of the church, still stuck in the seared dust of Islamabad. 

A week of wondering. Back and forthing about whether Astrid came through for her, for him. Second guessing if it’s a good or bad sign that Adal came looking for him through her. Scanning all the news sources in the area ten times a day for any mention of a lone American. 

But there’s been nothing. And it’s starting to make her a little crazy - especially combined with trying to be there for Maggie and Frannie and fucking impromptu visits by her mom of all people. She’s caught somewhere between the guilt of losing her dad and not being there and then losing Quinn and not being there either. All while trying to be a good fucking mom for a change and trying to remember what it’s like to be home. 

So Carrie pulls out the fake smile and tapes it over her worry as people come to express their condolences. And she’s managing the sadness and the anxiety - though the weight of it all sits in her gut and she knows it will never settle until she knows what happened to him. 

And then something strange happens as she’s talking to an older couple she barely remembers - a tiny jolt at the base of her neck. Carrie looks up, a bit startled and suddenly he’s standing there, less than thirty feet away. 

She stares. Blinks once. Twice. And the image still remains. Quinn. Wearing his best concerned look and a well-fitted suit. 

Carrie feels her breath hitch as something unwinds inside her and she feels the strongest rush of relief she’s ever experienced. And then she’s walking towards him, still thinking the image she sees might disappear. It’s not until she’s got her arms around him that she lets herself believe it’s real. 

“Hey,” he says, his arms tight around her, rubbing her back like it is normal, acceptable in spite of everything that has happened between them. 

And Carrie thinks this could be the closest she will ever get to pure release, the feeling of Quinn tight against her when she’s spent a week praying for exactly this moment. Her heart races and she can hear her own pulse mix with his as she proves to herself over and over than he is alive, whole, there. 

“Hey,” she finally manages back. “God, I was so worried about you.” 

Carrie hears her voice hitch again and doesn’t give a shit. She wants him to know exactly how worried she was and, by extension, exactly how thankful she is to have him there. 

“Things were worrisome there for awhile,” Quinn replies seriously. And she hears what he’s saying, reads between the lines. Wonders how close she got to losing him for good, wonders what made him come back out of the dark. 

He’s still rubbing her back and the strange thing is it already seems normal, okay. Something Quinn would do, something she would let him do. Like that last day between them in Islamabad never happened. Or that it did but he didn’t decide to hate her forever. 

It’s why it feels so good, Carrie realizes. Because she knows he must have hated her at many points along the way. And that he had every right to hold on to the hate after how she had treated him there, after she fucked up his plan. But against all odds he came back to her, showed up just in time to be holding her now. And all she feels in him is the Quinn she knows and loves. The one person she can rely on, the guy who stuck with her through her worst, the only one who ever cared enough not to give up. 

So when they finally let go and he asks if she’s okay, Carrie says yeah. Even though her dad is dead and she’s been beaten down by the wear and tear of her life, her choices. Because this is the one thing she’s been asking for. And for now, that’s good enough. 

******

Quinn gets out of the truck as he sees people file out the doors of the church, stands at a distance and waits. 

It’s not long until he sees the flash of blonde, the one that’s come to signify so many conflicting things to him. But this time when he sees her something new happens. He feels something pop in his chest, feels a sudden lightness that overshadows all the lingering doubt, anger, hate, darkness. 

And he’s surprised by the force of it, because for so long now every thought about Carrie has been steeped in anger and hurt. Yet as he stands there and watches as she finally notices him Quinn involuntarily feels nothing except compassion, love for her. For the Carrie that lost her dad, her colleagues, her lover yet risked her own life to save him from himself.

Then as she walks towards him, arms outstretched, Quinn pulls her in close, as tight as he can. And he thinks that this is what he wanted all along - even though he had never even considered the possibility before now. Because the thought of Carrie in his arms, holding onto him desperately had been about as realistic as Carrie giving a shit about anything other than herself and her mission. 

“Hey,” he says, feeling overwhelmed by possibility. 

Quinn wonders if she hears the emotion in his quiet greeting. Because he hadn’t been sure at all of what kind of reception he was going to get. And it hadn’t been hard to imagine her pissed off at him, for whatever reason she might have come up with. But the total happiness he sees from her is almost more than he could have hoped for - he can feel her relief right through the tightness of her grip.

Carrie doesn’t say anything right away but Quinn feels her melt into him as he rubs her back. And right then he realizes that something’s different - that the Carrie he’s holding in his arms is the one he’s been looking for this whole time. 

“Hey,” she finally responds. “God, I was so worried about you.” 

And he hasn’t really believed it until now, despite everything she’s said and done. Because it seemed so unlikely. Carrie worried about him. Laughable really. 

But now Quinn knows it’s true, feels it in her body, the way she clings to him. And finally he lets himself accept her worry, take it for what it is. 

“Things were worrisome there for awhile,” he replies truthfully. Thinks at least she could see it. Because he knows how close he was to the edge - is still shocked he stepped back from it, that he’s here state side with Carrie in his arms. 

He lets himself hold her, rub her back for a few more moments, still surprised she is letting him do it, that she hasn’t pulled away. Finally, he lets her go, asks if she’s okay. 

Carrie doesn’t answer right away, doesn’t seem quite sure. 

“Yeah,” she finally says. And he knows it’s not entirely true but as he looks at her, the two of them safe and home, Quinn thinks it’s good enough for now

*

He thinks she will walk away, go back to greeting relatives, receiving condolences but Carrie doesn’t stray, stays within reach and keeps looking over at him as if she expects him to disappear. 

She says a few words to a middle-aged couple and Quinn takes a few steps away to free her up, let her off any obligation to keep him company. He had only meant to come and see her, let her know he’d made it back and show her some support on a tough day. 

But he notices Carrie end the conversation quickly as soon as he backs away and she comes up to him again, slides her arm against his back. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Quinn asks, putting his arm around her waist. Because this is not the confident brash Carrie he’s used to, the Carrie that doesn’t need anyone. 

She gives him a tentative smile, chews on the corner of her lip as she looks away for a moment. When she looks back, makes eye contact. But he can’t quite read the mixed emotions he sees. 

“Well, it’s hard,” she admits. “I feel pretty shitty I wasn’t here this last year. But then again I would have just fucked everything up anyways considering how screwed up I was.” 

And Quinn thinks it’s true, that she couldn’t have dealt with any of it a year ago, even two months ago when they were last in the States. That it took all that bullshit in Islamabad to wake her up to everything that had gone wrong. And though it wasn’t worth it - nothing was worth all the loss and pain of the past two months - at least she made it through and found something she’d been missing. 

He doesn’t reply, just pulls her a little closer until she’s leaning comfortably against him. Waits, ready to listen to her, wondering how else things have changed. 

“But you’re here now,” Carrie says quietly, barely above a murmur. “And that’s all I wanted. So yeah, I’m okay.” 

And for once Quinn thinks she’s really telling him the truth, letting him in on what she keeps beneath her wall. Which makes him start to think things he has never let himself consider, barely formed wisps of hope. Things that were impossible until this moment. Things that are still highly unlikely now. But no longer impossible, he thinks. 

“What about you, Quinn?” she asks. “Are you okay?” 

He’s surprised she’s asked, thinks it’s just another sign of what’s shifted. And he’s not sure of the answer because all of a sudden he’s closer to okay than he’s been for awhile. Which is disconcerting in its own way, makes him feel slightly anxious in his own skin. 

“I’m not sure,” he replies honestly. “But this feels good.” 

Carrie smiles a bit at his response and Quinn feels himself smile too, despite the slight anxiety he’s still carrying with him.

They stand there for what feels like a long time and Quinn tries to let himself relax into the moment, get comfortable with the idea of Carrie letting him hold her. She’s leaning against him like it’s no big deal and he thinks he’s either been blessed or doomed, waits for the other shoe to drop, for Carrie to flip out and start a fight. 

But she doesn’t even move when when he points out that her sister is looking for her, at least not until he gives her a push towards her family and she scowls at him playfully. 

“Don’t leave,” she says. “I’ll be back in a minute.” 

Quinn tries to stop himself from thinking about how endearing it is that she’s worried he’ll disappear, that she keeps looking back to make sure he’s there. Even as she takes Frannie from Maggie and bounces the baby in her arms, he sees her look for him. 

And as he watches, Quinn notices how Carrie cradles the baby tightly, absently kisses her on the forehead as she talks to Maggie. He thinks she looks almost comfortable with the kid, doesn’t seem to be wearing the terrified expression she used to have on in all situations involving Frannie. Which is again highly unlikely but evidently possible from what he’s seeing. 

He stays at a distance, sees Carrie hand Frannie back over to her sister, watches as Maggie, Frannie and two other little girls get in a limo and drive away. 

Carrie walks back over, gives him that tilt of her head that just kills him every time, the little arch of her eyebrows. 

“Let’s go,” she says, as if he’s in on her master plan. “You’re coming. And driving me to Maggie’s.” 

Quinn’s a bit surprised but shrugs, thinks at worst he’ll get to hang around with Carrie. Which was the whole point of this operation after all. 

“You sure?” he asks. 

“Never been surer, Quinn,” Carrie replies with a pointed look, a glint in her eye. 

And he tries to not smile but loses the battle so he just nods his defeat, puts his arm out and leads her towards the truck, opens the door for her with a smirk. 

Quinn gets in the driver’s seat, glances over and sees Carrie giving him a considered look and a little smile. 

So he tries to seem serious as he looks over again and meets her eye. 

“Where to, Carrie?” he asks. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” 

******


	6. 4.12.2

4.12.2

Carrie gives him directions to her sister’s place even though they both know he’d have already looked it up and he drives like a civilian, a normal person. She’s quiet for a moment, looks out the window, then looks back over at him.

“How’d you get out of there?” she asks. 

“German intelligence was, helpful,” Quinn says tersely, thinks she should get the hint he doesn’t really want to talk about her deal with Astrid to get him back. Doesn’t really want to talk about any of that shit really.

But if Carrie gets the hint she ignores it anyways, as he should have expected. 

“Astrid?” she asks. Which makes him wonder if she really wants the conversation to go in that direction. And what it could possibly mean if she does. 

Which does his head in already. The idea that Carrie would give a shit about Astrid, the possibility of her being jealous. It’s really too much to take.

“Yeah, I hid out for awhile hoping for another chance at Haqqani but he was gone,” Quinn says, pushing things in a different direction. 

“I’m not sorry, Quinn,” Carrie replies on cue, and he thinks at least she’s still predictable, never willing to back down.

“Yeah, I get that,” he answers, because he really does. Once he’d calmed the fuck down and thought about it he had quickly come to realize that he would have lost his fucking shit if Carrie had tried something like that on him. And that she had done a fucking good job of stopping him which he held in esteem with some sort of perverse pride. But she doesn’t really need to hear any of that right now. 

Carrie gives him a look and then she’s quiet for a moment. Quinn thinks she’s misinterpreting his lack of desire to discuss things as unresolved anger and he knows there’s some of that too. He’s still pissed at her for making that decision for him but he’s come to terms with why she did it and his own role in putting her in that place. Like he set himself up this whole time. 

But then she says it, comes clean. 

“I had a chance at him too. Right after, ” she says and he looks over, unsure he wants this story confirmed to him right now, not quite ready to hear what she’s saying. 

“He stood up out of the sun roof suddenly, waving to the crowd,” she continues. “I was moving on him but Khan stopped me.”

And Quinn knows that she knows that he knows exactly what that would have meant. For her to have shot Haqqani in the middle of that crowd. He tries not to think of Sandy but it’s impossible. Textbook trigger really. He feels his heart rate rise a bit, tries to fight it off. 

“Jesus, Carrie,” he says, wonders if she hears the slight panic in his voice. 

“Now you know how I felt,” she adds, just to drive home the point. 

Quinn looks down, tries to put his thoughts away. Compartmentalize, move on. 

“Yeah well anyway, that’s all over now,” he mutters, like saying it will make it true. 

“Hopefully,” Carrie replies in a tone he can’t quite read. 

“What’s that mean?” he asks quickly, feels his pulse speed up yet again. 

“Dar Adal came looking for you.” she says.

“When?” Quinn asks, thinking fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. This is exactly what he doesn’t need right now. 

“Yesterday,” Carrie says.

“Have any idea why?” he asks, trying to tamp down the sense of doom that came with Adal’s name. 

“He didn’t say,” she replies. “Personally I’d stay away from that motherfucker.” 

Quinn tells himself to breathe, that Adal’s untimely reappearance in his life isn’t purposely designed to fuck him over. And it’s hard but he manages to control his rampant thoughts, puts them away for the moment.

“Oh I plan to,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster. Tells himself this could still be it, the time he gets out. Though this thing with Adal is a bad fucking sign. 

“Good,” Carrie says. And he wonders what she means by that, glances over and sees that she’s looking out the window, seems to be thinking. 

Quinn, on the other hand, is trying not to think, trying not to wonder what Adal wants him for, if this is just another play on Adal’s part to get him the fuck away from Carrie. Because if it is, Quinn’s in for a fucking fight and he knows it. And he’s tucking tired, beaten down, not ready for this next battle. 

He tells himself not to stress out, that he’ll figure this shit out after he’s feeling a little more settled. That he’s been state side for less than a day and everything is up in the fucking air. 

He looks over at Carrie again and she’s still quiet. Quinn wonders what she’s thinking, if her mind is still in Islamabad. He’s been trying his best to keep his in the present but it’s hard, especially sitting in a vehicle with Carrie. 

His thoughts wander back to what she just told him about almost having a go at Haqqani. Really she’d just confirmed what Astrid had already told him. But it was different, hearing it from her. In a way he’s surprised she told him, thinks it’s not like Carrie to share. 

And Quinn tells himself to forget it, that neither of them got to do their stupid heroic thing, that none of that matters, that Carrie’s here and fine. But his heart is still running a bit quick, and he feels the thoughts lock up in his mind, starts to intuit things that aren’t there. He tells himself to breathe, to let it all go. That he’s not in Islamabad, there’s no street mob trying to tear her away from him. 

Next thing he knows he’s not actually hyperventilating but it feels like he is. Quinn takes shallow breaths through his nose, tries to clear his head and still look level, sane. He thinks it’s a minor miracle Carrie hasn’t said anything that requires a response from him, knows he wouldn’t be able to form anything coherent at the moment. In fact just breathing and maintaining a semblance of calm is barely manageable right then.

Because for a second he thinks his head could explode, just burst with too many thoughts and emotions and pent-up memories. And then he hears Carrie yelling at him. Just like Carrie would. And he thinks fuck, isn’t this what I was trying to avoid?

*******

Carrie looks over, thinks Quinn’s been quiet for a long time, then realizes there are tiny beads of sweat on his brow, that he’s clenching his jaw and has an odd blankness to his practiced stare. 

“Quinn?” she says, sees no response. 

Thankfully he still seems to be with it enough to drive but his sudden frozen silence is ominous. Carrie puts her hand on his shoulder and gently shakes it, then sees him slowly turn his head and look towards her seriously, as if on a time delay.

“Quinn?!” she asks again, this time louder, right in his face. “What the fuck? Pull over!” 

He nods and complies, parks perfectly but leaves the engine running. Sits and tries to act as if he’s alright but there’s obviously something wrong. So she keeps her hand on his shoulder and tells herself to be calm.

“Jesus, Quinn. What the hell is going on?” Carrie says, more snappishly than she means to. But his lack of response is starting to freak her out, push the stress of the last few months back into her mind. 

Quinn sits for a few breaths just staring out the windshield and she knows he’s seeing something other than the banal streets in front of them. His eyes are wide and she can see the tenseness in his neck, though he is clearly trying his best to appear alright. 

Carrie gingerly moves her hand to his back to let him know she’s there, no matter where he might be. She rubs her thumb against the fine cotton of his shirt, against the taut muscles of his back and feels the sweat starting to seep through. 

Finally after what seems like forever but is probably less than five minutes, she feels him take a deep breath in and he turns his head to look at her, leans forward away from her touch. 

Quinn gives his head a shake and offers her a little shrug before starting to put the truck back into drive. Carrie physically stops him from moving the shifter though, puts her hand over his to push it back into park, and then pulls the keys from the ignition. 

Quinn gives her an irritated look, one she knows well and she breathes a bit, knowing he’s at least partly come back to himself. But he still seems tight, tied up, and she isn’t going to let it ride.

“What was that about?” she asks, somewhere between pissed off and concerned. 

Quinn shakes his head again, looks at her darkly. 

“Nothing,” he mutters. “I’m fine.” 

“Bullshit,” Carrie replies. “What the fuck was that?”

He goes back to staring out the windshield, refuses to make eye contact, slumps back in his seat. And she recognizes this Quinn, remembers how he was after he came back from the States the last time, angry and hurt. She sees it in his body, in the edge of defeat. And in Islamabad she had seen it as weakness, as something for him to get over. But now she understands that it’s his strength of character showing through, the part of him that fights off all the traumatic shit while still trying to be there for her. 

“Talk to me, Quinn,” she says, trying to keep the sharp edge out of her voice. “We’re not going anywhere until you do.” 

He looks over again and she admits he looks better, seems to be getting some colour back and his eyes are starting to react normally. He still looks annoyed though, and there’s a crease in his brow that’s not usually there. 

He exhales a little irritable huff and Carrie tilts her head at him, looks at him expectantly. 

“I was just thinking,” he finally says with hooded eyes, as if she will take that for an answer. 

“Fuck that,” she replies. “The truth, Quinn. There’s nowhere to hide.” 

Quinn exhales again and she feels his discomfort reverberate in the space between them. 

It’s another few minutes before he turns his head away from her, looks out the driver’s window. 

“It was just a flashback,” he finally mutters. “Nothing new.” 

Carrie furrows her brow, wonders how long this has been going on. Realizes the signs were there from the start - that the stress reaction he had from the street mob attack hadn’t ever quite gone away, that the PTSD card she’d once pulled was both genuine and heartbreaking.

“Jesus, Quinn,” she says, looking over at him, waiting for him to meet her eye. “Are you alright?”

But he doesn’t turn, just keeps gazing out the window and Carrie glances away from him - tells herself to keep calm, let him take his time. 

She wonders what he sees in the flashbacks, thinks of her own episodes of visual memory. Reminds herself that she’s never talked about this shit with anyone either, that even now she wouldn’t want to bring up her own problems with Quinn. 

Finally she looks over at him again and catches his eye, just flitting away. 

“Fuck, Carrie,” he says, low and halting. “You would have been torn apart.” 

Carrie raises her eyebrows, shrugs nonchalantly. Surprised that this is what he’s focused on, tries not to consider what it means. 

“Yeah well, like I said,” she replies. “Now you know how I felt. It was the choice I made at the time.” 

Suddenly she feels the energy in the vehicle shift and she turns towards Quinn, sees that he’s looking right at her, fury locked in his eyes.

“What the fuck, Carrie!” he explodes. “Did you even think how I would have felt?”

She reacts with her own ‘what the fuck’ expression, the one that needs no words. 

“Ever heard the one about the pot and the kettle, Quinn?” she asks with a huff. 

“Fuck that,” he retorts. “Not the same fucking thing.” 

“Are you serious?” she replies. “How is it not exactly the same fucking thing, Quinn?”

He doesn’t have a response to that, just looks pissed off, disapproving. And she remembers that Quinn just fine too, was hoping things were going to be different now. But no matter how glad she is that he’s there, Carrie knows their patterns are still established, that these arguments are wired into their interactions.

Then she looks again and he’s lost the anger but it’s been replaced with sadness. And he’s giving her his inscrutable stare, the one she can never quite get behind, the one that reminds her of his heavily redacted past.

“I had a fucking plan, Carrie,” he finally says. “Not just a suicidal impulse.”

“A fucking plan that was going to leave you dead or worse,” she retorts. “What about that? And what about the hundreds of civilians you were ready to kill?”

Even as she says it Carrie half-regrets it. Thinks it’s not the thing to be saying to a guy already suffering from traumatic stress. But she also knows it can’t be helped, that this conversation was inevitable. 

“What about you getting fucking beaten to death on the street?” Quinn shouts. “What about me thinking you’re finally safe and finding out you took the fucking bullet for me?” 

His eyes are live wire, the space between them electric. Carrie thinks this is where he was, up there in his tower of death. And then suddenly remembers exactly how relieved she is that he’s there in the car with her, thinks that arguing with him was not at all what she wants to be doing. 

So she makes herself take a good long look at him, at the scars beneath the surface, at the source of his anger. And again she sees the Quinn that came back for her, stuck with her, saved her in his own understated way. 

“Sorry, Quinn,” she finally says. “I wasn’t thinking about you or anything else really. It just seemed like a clean way to end it you know. Me and him. Done in one shot.”

Quinn doesn’t reply but she still feels sparks of anger fly off of him, his tenseness still physically present. 

“Fuck Carrie,” he snaps. “You don’t even know.” 

He’s quiet again after that and she’s unsure how to navigate this particular Quinn-scape, this angry expressive thoughtful space. Wonders if he’s going to continue, if she will find out what she doesn’t know.

Carrie waits another minute then finally takes the bait. 

“What don’t I know, Quinn?” she asks quietly. 

He still doesn’t look over, stares silently out the windshield for so long Carrie starts thinking that Maggie will be worried soon. But really she doesn’t give a shit, knows she should be there to help out but has a sense that sitting with Quinn, having this discussion is where she needs to be. So she waits, gives him the time she senses he needs.

“In the car,” he finally says. “With Sandy. That’s as bad it gets.” 

And she thinks he’s mostly right, that the rest of it all, the deaths, the betrayals, even the RPGs hitting their convoy - none of it was as visceral as Sandy getting pulled from the car, beaten to a pulp in front of them as they watched, helpless. The only thing worse was thinking she had pushed Quinn towards his own death, looking into his wild, uncontrolled eyes after he’d shot the marine, pushed his arm into her throat. 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “It was fucking hard to watch.” 

Quinn shakes his head, finally turns to make eye contact. 

“Sandy was dying and I could only think about you,” he mutters. “I just kept seeing what would happen if the crowd got you too.” 

And she thinks that’s not at all what she expected. When Carrie thinks about the car, the mob, she sees Sandy getting pulled away, feels the shock of watching him die. Vaguely recalls being pissed at Quinn for not doing more to prevent it. But she also remembers never actually feeling fear for herself, only realizes now it’s because she always knew Quinn would get her out of there. 

She shakes her head, thinks about Quinn carrying this with him all this time. Sees how the idea of her shooting Haqqani and letting the crowd take her apart fits tightly into his recurring nightmare, why it knocked him off balance. 

“But I was fine, Quinn,” she says. “Because of you. And there wasn’t anything either of us could have done about Sandy. It was all fucked from the start. We did our best with a shitty situation.” 

Carrie keeps eye-contact, tries to absolve him of everything with the strength behind her gaze. Thinks she’s looking right into him now, sees only a raw wound, the barest scab of hope. 

Quinn is still slightly vibrating and doesn’t seem to be hearing her, is somewhere between the mob in Islamabad and this average American street.

She thinks he just needs a good shake, something to tether him to his surroundings. Looks him over and wonders about this suddenly fragile Quinn, has an impulse to keep him safe, heal all his wounds.

So Carrie takes his hand in hers, runs her thumb over his clammy knuckles. He doesn’t say anything but gives her a look and she thinks he relaxes just the slightest bit.

“Listen to me, Quinn,” she says, making sure to maintain eye contact. “You saved my life there, more than once. I can see that now. And now I can see what it cost you and I’m fucking sorry. I’m sorry I made you go back, I’m sorry I didn’t see it, I’m sorry I was so fucked up that I didn’t give a shit about anything, about you. Until it was almost too late.” 

And Quinn still doesn’t respond but this time she senses that he’s listening, feels him tighten his grip on her hand halfway through her sorries. 

Finally, after what seems like ages, he lets out a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment before turning to look at her. 

“So now you know,” he says quietly, a question still hidden in his eyes.

Now I know, thinks Carrie. It’s almost unfathomable what he’s managed to do for her, despite her stubborn resistance. She owes him her life, her mind, her heart. Wonders if he understands how much it means to her. How much he means to her right now. 

She tugs at his hand, runs his knuckles across her lips and raises her eyebrows at him. 

“And now you know too,” she replies.

Quinn gives her a considered look and she thinks he’s almost lost the panicked edge, feels his pulse slow down, settle into hers. 

They sit like that for a moment until he doesn’t look so piqued. And Carrie thinks he seems alright now, but still asks him if he wants her to drive. 

“No, I’m good,” he says, like she knows he will. 

And Quinn drives fine, like a regular person, no evasive maneuvers. And Carrie tries not to glance over too often but he catches her at least once. 

“Just checking,” she says with a shrug. “Don’t make me worry about you, Quinn. I’ve done enough of that lately.” 

She thinks he almost smiles at that, which is something at least. And as she looks over at this slightly frayed Quinn, Carrie’s suddenly thankful she didn’t tell him any of that shit with Adal yet. Knows it could be enough to destabilize things, push him over that edge again. 

He isn’t the perfect mercenary, the emotionless killer anymore she thinks.This Quinn’s been wounded and she hadn’t bothered to notice. 

“Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it,” he mutters dryly. 

Carrie laughs a little at that, gives Quinn a shove in the shoulder. 

“Yeah, well I know I deserve it,” she says with a nod. 

Quinn gives her a sideways look, like he’s still wary she’s just saying the words. Again Carrie sees that feral side of him, reminds herself he’s skittish, the same as her. 

And she thinks now it’s her turn to look out for him, then wonders if he’ll let her. 

******


	7. 4.12.3

4.12.3

Quinn tries just to drive, not think. There’s a solid mass of anxiety in his chest and it’s nothing he’s ever experienced before. Full confidence, it’s how he’s always operated. Solid in his abilities, his emotions, his convictions. And now he’s anything but. Questions who he is, what it means that he’s here now with Carrie looking at him like he’s an abused dog. 

He thinks maybe he’s not ready for this, that it’s too much too soon. Life, without the constant threat of death. Where people have the time and energy to go to funerals, wakes. To talk together, to support one another.

Quinn wants to be there for her. It was the only reason he came back. But now he questions it all again - if he can do it, be the guy she can rely on, if she even wants him around. Because he suddenly feels damaged, knows his head isn’t quite straight yet. Which again is pretty fucking obvious if he can’t contain a flashback, if he’s telling Carrie things that were meant to stay in his mind. 

And he thinks she’ll be busy when they get there, that he’s not sure he can stand around making small talk with strangers. Quinn considers retreating, then thinks sitting around alone in an empty room isn’t exactly inviting either. But he would still have the whisky he brought along, and it would be so easy just to hide away from life for another night. 

So when they get to Maggie’s he pulls up in front, doesn’t look for a parking spot. Wonders if Carrie will let him off easy - like that’s ever happened, he thinks. 

It takes her a moment to figure out his meaning and then she turns to frown at him, give him a dirty look. 

“Didn’t I say you were coming with me?” she asks with an impatient edge. 

Quinn turns to make eye contact, tries to convey his discomfort without words. He does and he doesn’t want to go in there, play at normalcy, pretend like they’re both alright. 

“Since when have you been shy, Quinn?” Carrie says, and he can tell she’s trying her best to needle him lightly, walk around his tender spots. 

And what she says is true, he’s never been one to worry about what others think of him - it’s what comes with full confidence. And it’s not like he particularly gives a shit whether people think he’s a moody asshole because Carrie already knows and he doesn’t give a shit about any one else. But Quinn doesn’t want to be the sadsack sitting alone in the corner or the awkward acquaintance that she feels obligated to take care of. 

“I’m not sure I should be around people yet,” he finally replies, thinking she will know what he means. “And it’s a family thing. You don’t need me around.” 

Carrie gives him a slightly concerned look and he thinks that alone will take some time to get used to. Carrie Mathison, worried about him. Would wonders never cease. 

“Don’t tell me what I need,” she replies with just the hint of an edge. And he thinks that this is better, because he’s used to her being pissed off and it’s easier to accept than her concern. 

“I’ve already kept you long enough,” he says in his best dismissive tone. “You go, apologize to your sister for me. I’ll call you later.” 

Quinn thinks he may have gotten away with it when Carrie gives him an irritated look. But then she doesn’t make any move to leave the vehicle and he sighs internally, wonders why she’s making this so difficult. 

“What, Quinn - you have a girlfriend waiting?” she snaps and he’s immediately taken aback, feels the barb in his sternum, a poison arrow to the heart. 

He doesn’t have the time to process why he’s so pissed off, just feels the instant stab of anger and is suddenly transported back in time again, feels his emotions start to shut down.

Fucking Carrie, he thinks. She gets me every fucking time. 

And now she’s looking at him with an unreadable expression, oscillating somewhere between annoyance and something else. Which just makes him think that he was right in the first place, that he should have just said hi, look I’m alive and then ran for it.

“Jesus, Quinn,” she finally says. “It was just a joke.” 

Right. A joke, he thinks. Vaguely he realizes he’s overreacting but it’s hard to reel his emotions back in when they’ve so completely escaped their bonds. 

He tries to avoid looking at her, thinks the car ride has, of course, gone as poorly as possible. Wonders why she won’t just let him escape, write the whole thing off. Thinks if he just sits double-parked long enough she’ll get out eventually. 

“Quinn,” Carrie says. “Will you fucking look at me?” 

He tries not to but gives in after a moment. Not like he’s ever been able to refuse her, even when she’s inadvertently crushing his heart. 

But this time Carrie doesn’t look pissed off, in fact he thinks she looks somewhat apologetic, anxious. And he thinks fuck, that’s not helping anything. Because it’s easy when she’s angry at him, familiar. This Carrie - caring, concerned - it’s not something he’s comfortable with yet. 

“Park the vehicle,” she insists. “I’m not going in there without you.” 

And Quinn knows she’s not bluffing, gets the feeling that she really does want him along. So he tells himself to stop being so fucking sensitive, scared. That he’s right where he wants to be and it’s no time for running.

He considers refusing, then realizes it would be pointless. So he just sighs his defeat and starts the truck, finds a parking space up the block. 

Then when he’s finally parked, Quinn looks over at Carrie, catches her giving him an appraising eye. 

Still worried about what she might be seeing, he furrows his brow, gives her a dark look. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” he grumbles. 

But to his surprise, Carrie smiles, puts her hand back over his. 

“Then stop being so sweet, Quinn” she admonishes with a piercing gaze. 

And he thinks that’s not a word she uses. And that only Carrie would accuse him of being sweet when he’s trying his best to be a dick. And that there’s something both incredible and terrifying in the fact that she’s looked beneath the surface and hasn’t sent him on his way. 

Quinn’s so startled that she actually laughs a bit at him before getting out of the truck and then coming around to his side and pulling him out too. 

Halfway to her sister’s place he notices that his arm has somehow found her waist, that she’s leaning against it almost imperceptibly. 

“I don’t do sweet,” he mutters into her ear, hears her huff back a laugh, sees her smile widen. 

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Quinn,” Carrie replies with a spark in her eye. “You’ve been too good to me this whole time. You think I’d let that slide?” 

And finally Quinn feels the inner wall break down, feels the anxiety loosen up in his throat, almost laughs at her turn of phrase. No, of course she would never let that slide - being nice to Carrie never brought anything but derision and maltreatment, even before they both slid down the dark well of PTSD. 

Which was, of course, the essence of Carrie-ness. Deflecting any happiness away while absorbing all the problems, all the pain. But fuck, if it wasn’t exactly that, the exasperating Carrie-ness of her that sucked him in, drew him to her, made him do things for her that were out of character. Things some would say were sweet. 

And then suddenly Quinn’s glad to be out of the car, walking with her to her father’s wake. And he thinks maybe it’s okay to be wanted, needed - that he can manage it, at least for now. Because he’s with Carrie and she actually seems to want him around. Which is an opportunity he can scarcely afford to run from. 

“No, I expect full retribution,” he says grimly, with only the hint of a smile.

Carrie smiles again at that, lingers a moment longer than necessary at the door to give him the appraising look again. He thinks she’s about to make a barbed comment, warn him not to be himself.

“Come in, Quinn,” she finally says, opening the door. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

And Quinn thinks, oh. shit. 

Because he’s glad too. 

******

Carrie opens the door, looks back at Quinn. Thinks he looks better, has regained some more colour after losing it all in the truck. 

She sighs to herself, relieved to have finally gotten him out of the vehicle. For a moment she thought she had really blown it with the little girlfriend barb - had gotten a stronger reaction than she expected. But she had never known Quinn to be so sensitive, though now that she thinks about it Carrie finally realizes why he was so testy with her about the whole Aayan situation. Back then she had seen it as him questioning her methods, moralizing about things that didn’t need thinking about, that just needed to be done. And she knows there was some of that, that he didn’t agree with how far she went to obtain information. But this other thing, she’d been completely blind to it back then. 

And now Carrie realizes that Quinn didn’t bring home his emotional armour, shod it like dead skin in the aftermath of Islamabad. He still has that sharp edge, the live wire in his eyes. But there’s a vulnerability to him too and now she sees it’s been there all along. He just did his best to keep it hidden and she was too self-centred to ever consider it before. 

But now he’s here, safe, alive. And she’s not going to let him run, meant it when she told him she wasn’t going to let all slide, that there was payback to be had for all the times she’d used him, ignored him, hurt him.

So Carrie brings him inside, takes his coat, leads him over to the couch and sits him down. 

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she says, trying to assess his anxiety level. Which again makes her realize how new this is, thinking about Quinn in this way, worrying about him instead of being pissed at him. 

She walks off, thinks he looks a bit tense, feels him follow her with his eyes as she finds Maggie and makes up some implausible excuse for being late before taking Frannie from her. 

Frannie’s seems a bit mystified at all the action, waves her arms towards various people as they walk by and Carrie smiles as friends and relatives stop to pinch her cheeks, play a round of peek-a-boo. 

When she finally makes it back towards the couch, she sees Quinn making small talk with a woman she doesn’t recognize. And of course the woman is young and attractive so Carrie watches for a moment from behind the wall, wants to see how the situation unfolds. 

The woman does most of the talking and Quinn is being polite but keeps breaking eye contact to look around. Carrie thinks it’s habit, knows she does it too - always maintaining vigilance even at home, looking for escape routes just in case a disaster strikes. But this time she wonders if he’s just nervous in this space, full of average civilians trying to chat him up. 

Carrie tries to see Quinn through the eyes of this woman, wonders what she thinks of the darkly quiet guy sitting by himself, eyes flitting about skittishly. Probably that he’s fucking hot, and full of mystery. 

Which is something she’s never fully considered before now - that Quinn is both attractive and intriguing, that anyone would consider him a catch. Carrie supposes she always knew this vaguely but her first encounters with Quinn had only lead her to think of him as typical black ops - secretive and narrow-minded with a shiny outer shell to hide the darkness beneath. 

But now she understands what’s different, that she’s finally seeing the cracks in his exterior, the human underneath. And Carrie realizes she’s seen glimpses of it all along, those moments that snuck between the seams of his emotional wall. When she ‘escaped’ from Nazir, when he came to see her at the hospital, when he took the shot then bandaged her up, when he stopped her from killing Saul. Other times too, she thinks. This is how I know who’s under the shell. And why no ignorantly happy soccer mom will ever understand. 

Finally Carrie steps away from her spy nest, walks towards him holding Frannie and he notices her right away - she feels his eyes follow her intently as she approaches. When she gets close he stands up and smiles and Carrie sees the woman he’d been talking to eye the two of them up and down, then walk off. 

“You alright?” she asks as they sit back down, a spot for her so conveniently vacated. 

Quinn stops and thinks about it, then lays out a slow easy smile. 

“Yeah,” he says with a confident nod. “This is good.” 

“Good,” she replies. “I’m really glad you came.” 

“As if I had a choice,” he says with mock resignation and a sideways look. 

Carrie smiles at that, bounces her shoulder lightly off his. Thinks he does look alright, has let life settle in a bit. 

They sit like that for awhile, watching Frannie babble between them and she thinks it’s strange, letting Quinn in on this part of her life, see her as a mom. Because really she’s been pretending it never happened, never talked about it with him. 

But now they’re laughing because Frannie threw her shoe in his face, gave it everything she had. And Quinn makes some comment to Frannie about trying to not take after her mom, then gives Carrie his best deadpan ‘who me?’ face.

“I’ve never thrown a shoe at you,” she replies seriously. 

Quinn laughs, concedes the point. “But you would,” he adds. 

Carrie smiles, thinks he’s right, she definitely would. And then smiles again because she’s never really seen this before. Casual Quinn. Same guy, less fricative power. It’s strangely satisfying to see him like this, mostly relaxed, wearing half a smile. 

Saul and Mira come over to say hi and Carrie finally thinks to check on Maggie, see if she needs any help. She passes Frannie to Mira who’s clearly been waiting for her chance with the baby and looks over at Quinn, double checks he appears alright. 

And he looks fine, talking with Saul about something mundane. Carrie thinks it’s possible they’re discussing soccer results then laughs to herself at the implausibility of it all. That they all made it home, that Quinn knows shit about sports, that they are all together here for her, for her dad. For everything they’ve lost. 

But mostly that he made it, that he came home, came looking for her. After everything they’d been through, all the shit she dragged him into. He’s here in her sister’s living room drinking a beer, laughing at something her kid did. 

So Carrie stops to thank no one in particular for her minor miracle. God, Allah, the patron saint of impulsive CIA operatives, whoever. All she knows is one thing finally went her way after all that shit. And she doesn’t want to fuck it up. 

******


	8. 4.12.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, i know. episode 12 is going on forever and i'm barely halfway through. so be warned, it's gonna take awhile cause i'm filling in all the blanks.

4.12.4

Quinn’s been talking to Saul about something innocuous, tidbits he’s picked up from reading the paper in various airports while in transit. And it’s strange, a little awkward because all he can think of is the last time they met, at the debrief in Islamabad when Saul was a battered old man and Quinn was a live electrical current.

But Saul seems to have sloughed off that skin, looks more the former director of the CIA and less an abused kidnap victim. And Quinn is still charged but looking for different directions in which to push the trapped energy. 

Quinn takes note when Carrie passes Frannie over to Mira and walks off, wryly thinks he must appear to be over his little mental flip out if she thinks he’s okay on his own now. And then he thinks it must be pretty bad for Carrie to be looking out for him, tells himself to let it go, at least for the day. Try to relax, eat drink be merry, all that shit. 

He must have been lost in his thoughts for a moment because Saul is now giving him a studied look, as if he’s trying to see into him. 

When he notices that Quinn’s back in focus, Saul gives him a calm, serious look. 

“Glad you made it back, Quinn,” he says. 

Quinn’s a bit surprised, knows he’s not really anything to Saul, just another operative he used to work with. And then there was everything with his kidnapping, with the prisoner exchange, with the full-on debrief/interrogation. Quinn wonders if Saul is still be pissed to be alive, to have been the cause of so many problems. And he imagines Saul would have been perfectly alright with trading Quinn’s life for Haqqani’s.

But Saul sounds sincere, looks genuinely glad that Quinn’s here, alive. So Quinn lets go of his assumptions, tries to put the past back where it belongs. 

“Yeah, me too,” he finally replies with a nod. 

“What happened out there?” Saul asks. 

Quinn frowns, doesn’t especially want to talk about it. Thinks Carrie would have given Saul enough to go on, that he doesn’t need to know the details. 

“Carrie didn’t say?” he asks, hoping to get himself off the hook. 

“No,” Saul says, then pauses in that way he does, that indicates his level of concern. 

Quinn waits for him to continue, wonders where the conversation is going. 

“She didn’t want to talk about it. Gave me broad strokes - that she stopped you, that she believed you were still alive but she was forced to leave. To tell you the truth, Quinn, she seems quite traumatized by it. But then again, aren’t we all,” Saul finishes, a depth of sadness in his voice. 

“Yeah, isn’t that the truth,” Quinn replies. Thinks again how fucked up everything got, how everything was so tied up in violence and hate. 

Saul doesn’t respond and Quinn wonders what to tell him, does not want to talk about Carrie standing on his bomb, daring him to go through with it. The moment is still too fresh, barely a week ago. And that image, frozen in his mind, still pushes every button he’s got. Quinn can’t think of it without reliving the tsunami of mixed emotions - hate, fury, frustration, admiration, regret, repentance. All tied through with spiteful love. 

“She put herself in the way,” Quinn finally says. “Took a hard line.” 

Saul nods thoughtfully. 

“She always does,” he replies. 

And Quinn thinks yes she does. Then wonders for the millionth time what would have happened if he’d just let her take the shot way back when. If all of it would have been avoided if he’d just let her go down that path. And what it would have cost her in the end, if the coldness in her would have hunkered down, never let go. 

He thinks Saul must know by now, that someone would have told him. He wonders if Saul still wishes Carrie had made that choice, dropped the bomb that would have destroyed both of them. Wonders if Saul resents him for stopping her, for saving him. And her. 

That was a hard truth he’d learned about Saul - that the mission was everything. Even when it came to hurting Carrie, using her. 

“She was really worried about you,” Saul says after a long pause. 

And Quinn isn’t so much surprised at that any more, has almost come to grips with being an object of Carrie’s concern. But he is surprised that she’d let Saul in on it, had publicly acknowledged the fact. 

“I’ve rarely seen her like that,” he adds, when Quinn doesn’t respond. “And I’ve never seen her care more about the people than the mission.” 

Quinn realizes that’s true - even with Brody, it was mission first. And in the end she sacrificed him to keep the operation on track. She was Saul’s protege after all. 

He hadn’t quite thought of it that way before, how out of character it was for her to sacrifice the mission for him. And then he remembers she tried to use her own life to complete the task, thinks it’s absurd she valued his life over her own.

“Yeah,” Quinn finally replies. “I was surprised too.” 

Saul nods, glances over towards Carrie in the other room and then looks back at Quinn. 

“It’s not like Carrie but Islamabad shook her,” he says with an air of concern. “And with her dad dying, a child to raise, everything that’s happened... she’s lacking foundation.” 

Quinn thinks it’s true, that the Carrie he’s seeing isn’t so sure in her convictions, in her actions, in her role. And that a lot of it is on him, that he’s been trying to shake her up, get her to see the far side of her actions. He wonders if that’s what Saul’s getting at, if he’s trying to tell Quinn to back off, that he’s getting too close and it’s fucking with her head. 

“That’s you now, I hope you know,” Saul continues. 

And Quinn is momentarily confused, had been sure the conversation was about to turn another direction. So he just looks blankly at Saul, unsure of how to respond. 

“Of course she would never just come out and say it but she relies on you, Quinn. Maybe a lot more than you know judging from the look on your face,” Saul finishes with a wry smile.

Quinn thinks about it, about being part of Carrie’s foundation, about being around to rely on. And he wants to do it, to stick around and care but isn’t exactly sure he knows how. Because Quinn’s been on the run from himself for so long he’s not entirely sure who he is anymore, what he wants. Though he’s fairly certain he wants her, that he’s wanted her all along. So then the real question is what she wants, if she wants any of this at all. 

“Yeah, well I’m just glad we both came out of it okay,” Quinn finally says, because that’s really the truth of it. Whatever comes after this, he’ll have to play by ear. Thinks it’s all already been so unlikely, the reception he’s gotten from Carrie, Saul weighing in on his side. 

So Quinn puts aside the pressure of both the future and the past, lets himself sink into the moment. Turns his head and watches Carrie make the rounds, say polite things to guests. Sees Saul put his arm around Mira’s shoulders, watch as they play with Frannie. And he realizes that they will be her defacto grandparents - then suddenly has the thought that he could be her defacto dad, that the possibility is there. 

So when Mira looks to pass Frannie off, Quinn is quick to offer himself up, pick her up, put her in his lap. And he’s got her standing, bouncing off his leg in no time, thinks the possibility is less improbable than he thought. Because Frannie seems to like him alright and suddenly Quinn senses that Carrie’s looking at him, watches her smile out of the corner of his eye. 

And in that moment he realizes he’s completely relaxed, has let down his guard. And it is invigorating, to let the tension go, to shake off the darkness, to be safe, with Carrie, making friends with her kid.

So Quinn lets himself smile, capture the moment, drink in all its potential energy.

****** 

She’s helping Maggie carry in another casserole, wondering why people bring food to these things when booze would be more useful, fitting. 

“Who knew dad had so many friends,” Maggie says. 

And Carrie thinks Maggie’s right, that she would never have known her dad to be a man with so many relationships, that she had always assumed her dad wouldn’t manage friendships well because of his ups and downs. 

They find space on the table to put down the dishes and then Maggie pauses as she looks through to the living room. 

“Who’s that?” she asks in a particular tone, with that typically female inflection of interest, curiosity. 

“Oh, he’s one of mine, from work,” Carrie answers. “Quinn.” 

She says it perfunctorily, doesn’t want to give Maggie more than the basic facts, nothing to fuel any sisterly insinuations. 

“Don’t think I’ve heard you mention him before,” Maggie replies with the same hint in her voice. 

Carrie looks at her sister, then back at Quinn. For a moment she sees what Maggie sees - remembers that he’s attractive and playing with her kid, that both of these attributes are usually highly desirable in males of the species. 

But she is not about to discuss Quinn with Maggie, hasn’t even come to a real understanding of this thing she’s just started to see in him. So she does her best to sound noncommital, matter-of-fact.

“Hm. Don’t think I ever have,” Carrie says, still watching Quinn and Frannie, trying not to smile as she sees him relax, grin, laugh. 

“Well, he and Frannie seem to have hit it off,” Maggie comments.   
 Carrie takes the hint, gives in to the smile as she tosses them one more look. 

It’s strange to think of Quinn as a guy Maggie would approve of, as relationship material. Quinn lives in motels, out of a suitcase, ready to ship out on moment’s notice. He builds bombs, executes people. But he also saves lives, sticks around. 

She walks over to Saul, thinks it’s a good time to pull him away with Quinn occupied with baby-sitting. Borrows him and they walk out into the yard, away from prying ears.

He tells her nothing really, just denial of any engagement with Islamabad, of any overtures to Haqqani. But he hasn’t let the secret drop, that she saw Adal in the car that day, tells her it’s just the two of them for now, not even Quinn. 

And she hears the inference in Saul’s tone, wonders that even Saul seems to be seeing something there. That he would assume she tells everything to Quinn, that he is her go-to guy.

But Carrie agrees, thinks this is not the time to tell Quinn about Adal. 

“He’d go ballistic if he knew,” she says. 

She doesn’t exactly like keeping things from him but right now it’s for his own good. He is clearly still on edge, needs some downtime. Definitely does not need to be running off to confront Adal, probably straight into some black hole that just digs him deeper into the mire. 

Then Saul just has the time to tell her he’ll do some more digging on the subject when Quinn wanders up. 

“Am I interrupting?” he asks. And even that is strange to her, to see Quinn play polite, obey social convention. Because she still mostly sees her taciturn assassin-turned-case-officer, a man that does not make small talk, or adhere to rules of conversation. 

“No, not at all,” she replies with a smile. 

“How’s your dad feel about Irish whiskey?” he asks seriously. 

And Carrie smiles again, thinks that sometimes he knows exactly what to say.

“Nice,” she replies, giving him a sly look. 

They walk back in, find some cups and Carrie leads them towards the patio table. Saul stops to talk to Mira, says he’ll catch right up so it ends up just her and Quinn at the table, good Irish whiskey in white solo cups.

“Cheers,” she says, when he’s poured her a large dose. 

And Quinn smiles as he taps her cup with his, and they both down theirs in one go. Then he pours them each another and gives her a thoughtful look. 

They sit quietly for a moment and Carrie wonders what he’s thinking, if he’s here or back there, knows she often drifts back in time in unexpected moments. 

“Penny for your thoughts, Quinn,” she says, tries to effect a light tone. 

He looks at her, raises his eyebrows, doesn’t say anything. 

“You alright? I saw you talking to Saul earlier,” Carrie tries. Doesn’t mention they looked to be in an intense conversation, that Quinn had appeared somewhat distressed. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Quinn says with a little nod. And he says it evenly, but like he’s still convincing himself of it. 

“You sure?” Carrie asks with a touch of concern, hoping he will crack, give her a little more. 

And he doesn’t reply right away, just keeps giving her that studied look, like he’s thinking hard, someplace else. And she thinks the whiskey was supposed to lighten things up, not make them think - hopes another couple drinks will take care of that. 

“Hey Carrie,” he finally says after what seems like an eon. 

And now she really wonders where he’s going with this, thinks he can really be a closed book. Because she has no idea what he’s thinking about, if he’s alright or in pieces. 

“Thanks for coming after me,” Quinn finishes. 

Which is the last thing she would have ever guessed he would say. Because she knows he doesn’t mean it, that he’s not far enough removed. 

“Bullshit,” she replies. “You don’t mean that, Quinn.” 

Quinn shrugs, loosens up. 

“Maybe I do,” he says slowly. Pauses before continuing.

“I’m still pissed about handing over Afghanistan, I still want Haqqani dead. And it’s not so much my own life... but a lot of people would have died that day. I don’t know if I could have lived with that.”

And Carrie looks at him, thinks again that he’s a good man, that she stopped him for that exactly reason - to save him from himself. Because he had done the same for her.

“Well, what’s that you said about payback?” she says, knows he will get the hint. 

Quinn looks at her with a sardonic grin. 

“You fucking deserved it,” he says with a laugh. “After everything you put me through.” 

“What, me?” she asks, tries to look affronted. 

But Carrie can’t stop the smile from sneaking out, thinks it’s time to stop being so hard on Quinn.

“Kidding, Quinn,” she says. “I know how I was. Let’s have another fucking drink.”


	9. 4.12.5

4.12.5

Quinn’s a few whiskeys in, listening to Carrie laugh and say she’s learning so many things about her dad that she never knew. 

And he thinks he’s learning a lot too - that she can relax, laugh. That maybe he can too. 

“Like what?” he asks, just to keep her talking. Thinks there’s nowhere he’d rather be right now than here, listening to Carrie tell stories about her dad, watching her smile so casually. She seems so human, so alive. And he thinks he’s never seen this side of her before, didn’t think it existed until now. 

“Like he was arrested on the mall protesting the Iraq war,” she says. ”Six times.”

Quinn smiles a bit at that, thinks he’s not at all surprised that persistence runs in her family. Civil disobedience too. 

Then, when Saul mentions remembering it, Carrie is clearly surprised to hear about hundreds of letters her dad wrote to Georgetown, demanding that she be reassigned home from Baghdad. 

Quinn looks at her, curious to see her reaction, thinks he can’t even imagine her dad’s frustration with her, demanding to be assigned to the most dangerous locations, never giving in. He pictures a young Carrie, wild and feisty, thinks sometime he’ll have to ask Saul for some stories. 

“You never told me that,” she says, looking thoughtful.

He watches her consider these facts about her dad, and she looks so calm, connected. Quinn thinks it’s nearly impossible that she’s the same person he knew in Islamabad, the same person who deserted everyone that cared about her to cross names off a list. But then he reminds himself the shit she went through, remembers that it’s incredible she came out of it all with her sanity. And now it seems like she’s started to shake off the numbness, reconnect with her world. 

Then Lockhart comes, awkwardly offers a lasagna and Carrie’s even good to him, calls him a nice guy, invites him to join them. 

After he fucked them all over, gave up the asset list, set them all up by colluding with Sandy in the first place. She has a lot she could hold against him but Quinn senses she’s really let it go, that she’s forgiven Lockhart for his piece of the shit pie. Accepted that they all played a role and the best they can do now is move on.

And if Carrie can let it go then he shouldn’t hold onto it either. Just another fuck up in a whole series of them. And at least the man is repentant, is paying for his mistakes. 

“Yeah, take a chair,” Quinn adds, thinks wryly that Lockhart is part of the Islamabad fuck up club now. One of the only ones to know how bad it got. 

So he pours Lockhart a whiskey and they cheers to nothing, silently tap their plastic cups together.

But Quinn still smiles at the idea of being there, with the other survivors. With Carrie. Even more at the fact that he’s glad to be there, be alive. Thinks how unlikely his survival was just a week ago, knows that he barely escaped with his life, his sanity. 

All because of her. Because she wouldn’t let him go. 

And now they’re here together. And it feels good. Loose. Light. The whiskey helps of course, lets him forget, let go. Hope, dream. 

And he might be dreaming now but Quinn catches Carrie looking at him a few times, a hint of a smile on her lips. 

He wonders what she’s thinking, if he’s misreading the furtive glances, if it’s just the whiskey talking. 

Because Quinn’s starting to thinks things that shouldn’t be thought about, concepts he’d been pretending didn’t exist. And it’s both invigorating and nerve-racking to attach possibility to Carrie, to allow himself to consider such illicit thoughts. Because he suddenly sees that hope is a drug, realizes he’d been in withdrawal a long time. 

And now he thinks he might be ODing, does not want to do anything rash.

* 

Saul and Lockhart leave soon after the bottle is empty, back to their domestic lives and Quinn gets up too, thinks to do the same. He can feel himself still smiling and it’s feels foreign, but good. Like an old habit he’s forgotten about. 

But all the other guests have already left and he can’t just sit there all night looking at Carrie and grinning to himself. So Quinn figures it’s time to leave too, give himself some time to absorb things, consider his options. Because he’s seeing things he thought he’d never see. Which could either be a very good thing or a very bad thing. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Carrie asks as he stands up. 

Quinn looks at her, the question is obvious in his eyes. 

“You’re too drunk to drive,” she says with a smirk.   And he thinks about it, realizes she’s actually right. Looks at her a bit blankly, is unsure of how to deal with this predicament of ordinary life. 

But Carrie’s still smiling and he thinks well at least he’s got that going for him. And she stands up too, picks up the cups and bottle from the table. 

“I’ve got to go in and help Maggie,” she says. “Looks like I’m going to get to see those covert clean up skills in action.”

Quinn is confused for a moment, had really thought she would just call him a cab. But Carrie’s giving him a look that says ‘what are you waiting for’ so he follows her in, wanders around helping her pick up dishes. 

Maggie gives them a considered look as they bring the first round of dirty dishes into the kitchen and Quinn notices a series of silent signals pass between Carrie and her sister. 

“Quinn insisted on staying to help clean up,” Carrie says with a shrug. 

And he thinks he would never actually do that, be the last guy at the party, think about doing dishes. But he doesn’t have any issues with the implications of her fabrication - plays along, bides his time picking up glasses as he tries to not think too much about the direction things are heading. 

Because in no way could he have ever anticipated the day ending like this. Had gone into it completely unsure where he stood, if she would even want to see him or not. If he would still be mad at her or if he could really let it all go.

And now Quinn finds himself standing right next to Carrie, feels her leaning into him as she passes him dishes. Then he catches her looking at him as he makes small talk with Maggie, wonders for the millionth time how he ended up the only one left, helping tidy up. Thinks he got played by her yet again, but this time he’s alright with the result.

“Sober yet?” she asks with a wink. 

Quinn gives her half a smile. Nods amiably.

“Stone cold,” he replies. 

Carrie bites back a smile, deliberately leans close to grab a cloth. Quinn feels her breath on his ear as her lips brush by and he thinks actually he’s never been able to stay cold at all around her. 

“Stick around, I’ll walk you out,” she whispers. 

And he doesn’t say he’s only parked a block away, that he can let himself out. Just blinks and nods again as she wipes off the table then says she’s going to check on Frannie. 

So then it’s just him and Maggie in the kitchen, making small talk. Quinn thinks again how unlikely it is he’s the last man standing at a party he didn’t intend to be at. Well, not a party really. But as much of one as came into his life lately. 

Maggie asks him if he was there too, tells him she’s never seen Carrie so thrown after a job. And he thinks that’s actually a good thing, that she again has the capacity to be affected. That she finally sees, understands the costs of their actions. 

Quinn tells Maggie a lot went wrong, thinks that’s as much as she can and should know. But in his head he also runs through all the shit that did go wrong, right from the start with Sandy trading secrets, setting them all up to fail. Carrie getting drugged, almost blowing Saul to pieces then saving his life in the worst way possible. All the body bags at the embassy, all the people he almost killed.

And mostly he remembers how he felt, strung out and angry, unable to connect with her, find the human inside that he once knew. 

Quinn thinks again of the cold hard Carrie he picked up at the airport, the Carrie that was running from her past, her responsibilities. And he thinks of her today, here with her family, her kid. 

And at that moment, Quinn finally finds himself completely at peace with her stopping him. Lets go of his failure, fully appreciates the risk she took for him. He knows he came very close to losing himself, that she saved his life in more ways than one. 

A lot of things did go wrong, he thinks. But somehow through it all he found the Carrie he thought he’d lost, the one he’d never had. So at least one thing had gone right. And now he just hopes he doesn’t fuck it all up. 

* 

Carrie walks up the stairs, looks back for a moment and sees Quinn and Maggie making small talk, straightening dishes. He’s got his tie tucked into his shirt, looks domestic, like a regular guy. And she smiles to herself, thinks this is a side of Quinn she never thought she’d see, a side she didn’t know existed. He’s been a lot of things to her - asshole boss, compassionate colleague, reluctant subordinate. But mostly she just saw him as a guy who lives on the run, trying to do his best in a world where he doesn’t quite fit. Someone as detached as she was, another casualty of the CIA. 

And then today he’s just been a friend, one she really thought she’d lost. Possibly forever. Carrie wonders if that’s why she’s suddenly feeling so settled despite everything that’s happened. Or if it’s just the Irish whiskey and the relief of being away from all the tension, the threat of death and betrayal. 

As she finally looks away Carrie thinks about having kept him there, about her intentions. Because she’s not at all sure where anything is going. All she knows is she’s seeing everything differently now. And she’s always been one to go on gut feeling, has an inkling that the night isn’t done with them quite yet. 

Carrie wonders what’s going on with her. It’s her father’s funeral yet she feels lighter than she has in months, maybe years. At least since she found out about Frannie in the first place. 

But it’s actually been nice to be with her sister, her family. Well apart from the shit with their mom. And to be there, thinking about her dad, learning about him from his friends. Carrie realizes she now knows another side of her dad after hearing all the stories, sees him a bit differently. And then she thinks her dad isn’t the only person she’s starting to look at differently. 

Carrie checks on Frannie, tucks her in and looks at her fondly. She’s still struck by the warmth she feels when she sees her baby now, can still feel the direct contrast to how things were when she was home last.

And then Carrie thinks how Frannie almost lost both her parents before she was even born. That she herself only just lost her dad now, after thirty-five years. And even that wasn’t long enough for her to really appreciate everything he was to her.

She also thinks about her mom, about how much it hurt to be abandoned by her at eighteen. But even her mom had stuck it out until she left for school, could have left at any other time along the way and didn’t.

Carrie thinks how it took until now for her to realize the effect it would have had on Frannie’s life. For her to have run off, left, maybe died in Pakistan. That Frannie would have wondered about her parents her whole life, wondered where she came from, if she was ever loved. 

Not that Maggie wouldn’t have loved her. But it’s not the same as knowing your own mom - there’s just no substitute for that. Frannie would have grown up thinking her mom didn’t care enough to stay. And she would have been right. 

Then again she was better off with Maggie at the start, Carrie thinks. She remembers where she was emotionally back then, crammed full of guilt, anger, sadness and unable to look at any of it. And it’s still fucking hard to look at. But at least she’s starting to acknowledge it, admits there was something seriously wrong.

And she’s still not sure what happened in Pakistan, how all the additional trauma somehow turned it all around. She does know that it didn’t happen on its own, that she’d been nearly at the end of a dangerous road. But then somehow almost losing Saul, almost losing herself, and, most of all, almost losing Quinn - all of it finally made her realize what really mattered in the end.

Some of it was the shit Quinn said to her, the things he stopped her from doing, his endless commitment to keeping her in line. The funny thing is Carrie remembers exactly how pissed off she was at him most of that time - just saw him getting in her way at every fucking turn. She remembers wondering why the fuck she had ever begged him to come back to Islamabad if he was just going to stand around moralizing about her tactics, judging her every action.

Now she wonders if she somehow subconsciously knew all along. Set herself up with the only person able to stand up to her, put her straight. No one else could have made her face up to facts, understand the impact of her own actions. No one else would have been willing to subject themselves to the abuse. 

On the other hand, Carrie’s only now beginning to understand that he signed himself up for this, that Quinn was an active participant in his own fate. All along she thought she’d made him do it, used him the same way she does everyone. Pressed him until he broke. But now she realizes he knew what he was getting into, it was why he resisted so strongly. She wonders what he saw in her back then, what drove him to put aside his own well-being for hers. Because she knows he was close to giving up and she doesn’t blame him one bit, still clearly recalls barking at him after he saved her life that first day in Islamabad. 

Fuck, she was hard on him, she thinks to herself. She still can’t believe he subjected himself to that, didn’t just abandon her to herself. 

For a moment Carrie flashes back to the moment she almost lost him, at the hate she heard in his voice. And she wonders how the fuck he is here in the kitchen barely a week later, how he’s traded the hate for what she sees in him now. 

Because what she sees now is a guy who stuck around through the worst times, who cared enough to stay and fight for her even though she was too fucked up to appreciate it. Which is really just saying that she finally sees Quinn, her only friend - bad at conversation, direct and uncompromising, yet compassionate to a fault. 

And as she walks back down the stairs, she looks at him, tie untucked, jacket on, typical serious expression on his face. Sees everything he’s ever done for her. Thinks how she always grudgingly liked him more than she would ever admit. 

Maggie asks if everything’s okay and Carrie makes a crack about NyQuilling Frannie because that’s the kind of shit that’s expected from her. Maggie predictably responds with her disapproving look, the one Carrie knows all too well and even Quinn gives her a sideways glance. But of course she’s kidding and it’s slightly weird as they all stand there smiling at her attempt at humour, at her typical Carrie ways. 

“Ready?” she asks, looking at Quinn. 

And Carrie wonders what she’s really asking, if he senses her nerves. She knows Maggie is onto her but only because this never happens - she doesn’t have friends, much less ones that stay around to help clean up, ones that she walks to their cars. 

But if he notices anything, Quinn doesn’t show it. And Carrie briefly thinks how she had started the day out - her eyes shut tight, silently praying for his survival, telling herself he couldn’t possibly make it to the funeral but still holding onto a ghost of hope. Now part of her thinks this could still all be a dream, that they’ll walk out the door and he will fade away.

But Quinn doesn’t know any of that, just looks up at her, acts like it’s totally normal for him to still be there, for her to walk him out. And Carrie smiles yet again, thinks she could really be okay with this, that having him here with her changes everything. 

Because she might have lost big in Islamabad but she ended up coming home with what really mattered.


	10. 4.12.6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's what we've all been waiting for right...

4.12.6

He follows her out the door and they walk in silence for a moment. Quinn thinks about the day, about being state side, about the choice he made. And though everything is up in the air and he doesn’t at all know where he stands, he at least knows he made the right decision for once. To step away from the darkness that keeps trying to draw him in, at least make another attempt at achieving escape velocity. 

“Frannie took a shine to you,” Carrie finally comments, breaks through the quietness. 

“Yeah, we made friends,” he replies with a laugh. 

Quinn thinks about Carrie being a mom, how fucking unlikely it all is. How the entire time in Islamabad she never mentioned her kid once; how different things can become in a matter of days. 

A week ago they both came close to death. Even just two weeks ago Carrie was the coldest human being he knew. And now, he sees things in her that he thought were gone forever. 

“You’ve been quiet,” she comments. 

And Quinn knows she’s right; everything that’s been going through his head has got him tied up in the sudden meeting of past, present and future. That he’s been thinking about things that were complete impossibilities, notions that weren’t ever meant to be seriously considered.

“Thinking,” he replies, not wanting to give too much away. 

Carrie gives him a two count to elaborate, then pushes it when he doesn’t.

“About?” she asks. 

He wonders how to tell her, how to talk to her about something so mundane, so normal. Knows he doesn’t have the words to describe everything going through him at the moment, all the thoughts, emotions, hopes.

 “This,” he answers, waves his hands a bit to try and explain.

“What do you mean?” Carrie asks. And Quinn knows he’s being obscure, that she probably thinks he’s being difficult on purpose. 

“Being home,” he replies with a sigh. “Being away from all that.” 

“Yeah,” Carrie says, as if she can’t believe it either. “Normal life,”

“Yeah,” Quinn answers, right away. Thinks she actually might get it for once. “Feels good.”

She smiles at that, a real fucking smile. And he thinks it really does feel good, really fucking good to see her like this. 

“Just... laughing. You know,” he continues, stumbling over his words a bit. 

And Quinn thinks he must sound drunk though he only feels the residual effects of the whiskey - hopes she doesn’t think him an idiot because he can’t quite express himself. He just doesn’t get this often, the chance to talk to her about something like this and it’s still outside his comfort zone, feels awkward yet exhilarating. 

But Carrie just keeps smiling at him and he can even see the lightness in her eyes, the way she’s looking at him. And he thinks how good it is to be there - talking and laughing with her, letting himself care about her after trying to repress it for so long.

“Yeah... tonight was fun,” she says, then looks away for a moment, her expression changing as she considers what she said. 

“God is that awful?” she asks, a little self-consciously.

And he thinks how strange it is for Carrie to give a shit about what he thinks of her, for her to be concerned about appearing cold-hearted. 

“No, not at all,” Quinn replies quickly, wants her to know he’s with her, that he forgives her for the past, for everything she’s put him through. 

“It was sad but... fun,” Carrie says with a shrug and that same genuine smile, the one he can’t stop staring at.

So he just keeps looking at her. And the way Carrie’s looking back... well, he’s never seen it before. But Quinn can definitely see where things are heading, gives himself a moment to wonder it’s just the whiskey. Because as many times as he’s let this thought slip into his head, he’d actually been fairly sure it could never happen. 

And he thinks they make the move at the same time, then his lips are on hers and there’s no more time for thinking. 

It starts slow but charged, the feel of her mouth on his overwhelming as he leans her back against the truck, starts to kiss her more fiercely, let some of his latent passion out. Then Carrie’s hand is on his neck, pulling him towards her. And Quinn still can’t quite believe it’s happening as he finds his fingers in her hair, presses up against her as tight as he can, loses himself in her.

Because it’s beyond comprehension, being so close to Carrie, the heat of her breath mingling with his, the feel of her body up against him. It’s all of the energy that has always existed between them, just pushed in a new direction. And then just as Quinn thinks he could do this forever, that he’s never wanted anything more, Carrie pulls away, leans her head against his shoulder and walks away from him.

*

Carrie’s got her hands in Quinn’s hair, pulls him closer, her mouth hot against his. And she still doesn’t know exactly how it happened, thinks they were making awkward small talk just a moment ago. And it’s a little bit due to the booze but she knows it’s been sneaking up on them all day, that she’d made him stay around for a reason. 

The moment had been soaked in anticipation. Right up to the point where he leaned in, and she caught him with her mouth, tugged him towards her. And now his fingers are laced through her hair, the fervor in his body diffusing into her. Carrie thinks this is everything she never expected from Quinn, this letting loose of self control. 

And it just feels so fucking good to connect so furiously with him - she feels him etched onto her body, his lips seared into hers. But even now in the heat of the moment, with Quinn leaning against her, pressed up against the truck, she wonders how something that feels so fucking good can be such a bad idea. 

Because this was never supposed to happen with Quinn - she’d always liked him too much. And honestly most of the time Carrie thought he actually didn’t like her, always thought she was doing the wrong thing. She hadn’t seen any of this coming until just that day. 

His hands are pulling her closer, and she feels that electric intensity of his run right through her, spark that current that has always existed between them. Carrie’s swept away by a tumble of emotions; feels so safe, so wanted. And it feels so fucking good to let loose with him, feel the tautness of his body up against hers.

Which then of course instantly turns to guilt that tells her that she doesn’t deserve it, that it’s a fucking bad idea, that she will royally fuck it up as she always does. And then he’d be gone forever - she’d lose him for good. 

Great fucking choice, she thinks. And the worst part is Carrie knows she’s likely to fuck it up either way, that this kind of shit just never works out for her. Relationships are just not something she can do. And fucking Quinn cannot possibly lead to anything but disaster. 

And as the thoughts flow into her mind, she pulls out of the kiss, leans her head against his shoulder for a moment before walking away. 

Carrie turns and looks at him, feels the panic welling up in her chest. Thinks of all the ways she destroys things, of her inability to keep people close. And all the heat of the moment before turns right into ice, sits in the pit of her stomach.

“Quinn, I’ll just fuck it up,” she says, hopes he will see the logic in what she’s saying. Because he of all people should know what a bad idea this is, that it will end up hurting both of them.

“No you won’t,” he replies, shaking his head. 

“I will... I do,” she answers, thinks he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, hasn’t seen how it always ends. 

“I know how this goes... it ends badly,” Carrie continues, being as truthful as she can. Because she owes him that at least, can’t drag him into something that’s predestined to fail. 

“Til it doesn’t,” Quinn responds. And she remembers exactly how stubborn he can be. Determined, resolute. 

She looks at him, wonders how he thinks it could possibly work after all he’s seen of her. Because Carrie knows what she’s like and she knows everyone leaves. That it’s all her shit, that it’s part and parcel of who she is. 

And she only just got him back, just realized that she really does maybe love him, that she wasn’t just saying it way the fuck back when. So above all she does not want to lose him again in a month or six, however long it takes for her to lose her mind at him, for him to give up. 

“Come on, you know my shit,” Carrie says, tries to remind him of how bad things get, the way she can be. 

“You know mine,” he interjects, adamant, unwilling to let it go. 

And it’s true, Quinn’s not without issues himself. She’s worried about him, thinks his emotions have been all over the place lately. But overall he’s solid, stable. Everything that she isn’t, everything she can’t have. 

Carrie’s surprised he’s pushing so hard, that he doesn’t just take the easy way out. Honestly, at first she’d thought he was kissing her out of pure built up frustration, that it was just a momentary lapse on his part. 

But she hadn’t felt any anger from him - Quinn kissed like he cared, tender yet charged. Passion with a hint of sweetness, the exact mix of Quinn himself. And that’s why she’d stepped back - because she had realized he meant it, that she might mean it too. Which could only lead to destruction. 

“But you don’t have my condition,” she says with emphasis. Thinks he’s letting the whiskey think for him, that he just has to remember the bad times. Because he has no idea what he’s asking for.

But Quinn doesn’t even pause, will not drop it.

“I’ve seen you,” he says, pauses. And there’s something in the way he says it, it reminds her that he’s right, that there aren’t many people who have ever really seen her. But she let him and he’s never betrayed her trust. 

And now the way Quinn’s looking at her, Carrie feels like he’s seeing right into her, that he really means it. Which fucking scares her to shit, because she actually sees some hope in him, wants to believe in the dream. 

“At your worst,” he adds. 

Flashes fly through her mind, at the hospital, with Brody. The fucking mob, the command room in Islamabad. What’s worse. she wonders. When she’s lost her mind or when she’s lost her heart? But he’s seen them both, is still fighting for this, for whatever he sees in her. 

“You should be heading for the hills,” she replies with a huff. Tries to stop thinking about the glimmer of possibility, tells herself she can’t do this to him, let him believe it could work.

But Quinn is serious as always, won’t let her get away with anything. 

“Look, Islamabad was ugly,” he says. “It was a black hole and I don’t want anything like that in my life ever again.”

He pauses for a moment and Carrie thinks how he’s been saying this all along, that she just purposely ignored him to meet her own ends. That she’s been using him all this time, that this is the only way she knows how to be. And that hanging onto him was fucking unfair, almost left him dead, stranded in enemy territory with a price on his head. 

“I want to get out, stay out,” Quinn continues.

“Yeah,” she replies, finally really gets it. Gets why he needs to get out, why he can never shake free. It’s the same for her, she’s always drawn back into the game. But he’s further along the path than her and she can see it eating at him, fraying his edges. 

“But I can’t do it on my own,” he says. “I’ve learned that.” 

And Carrie’s surprised by his admittance, that there’s anything Quinn can’t do on his own. He is full of self reliance, personal competence. She thought he would never admit defeat, that he’d try until one day he managed to crawl out of the dark, pull himself out of the event horizon for good. 

“Well, I haven’t exactly been helpful,” she replies, tries to pull in at least a share of the blame. Let him know that she sees it now, that she’s been fucking him over, using him to her own ends. And the worst part is Carrie thinks he could have done it, before he came back to Islamabad, when he was obviously really fucked up. But of course she hadn’t thought of any of that when she begged him to come back. 

“But you could be,” Quinn says. And now Carrie really has no idea where his mind is, what he’s about to say. Because if he really thinks she can help him get out he obviously doesn’t remember her track record, her own enduring loyalty to their employer. 

“You want out too,” he continues. “We get out together.”

For a second she thinks he can’t possibly be serious, or that he’s a lot drunker than she thought. She can’t believe he would want that of her. With her. Something normal, without the constant life or death. With Quinn of all people. Her fucking sensitive assassin. 

Well, he always did make bad choices, she thinks. Stuck with her straight through til now, just kept coming back for more.

Carrie wonders what he’s thinking, if he’s been thinking about this all along or if it was spur of the moment. Because she didn’t see it coming at all, feels both blindsided and astounded that he would want this.

And Quinn gives nothing in his eyes, just a half smile and his usual intense look. But he obviously means everything he’s said and that makes her fucking scared. Because right now Carrie really fucking wants him, wants to try. And she’s sure that’s going to lead to losing him for good, knows that’s the way it is.

“Well, you think about it, Carrie,” he says after what seems like forever. Then reaches out, tucks her hair behind her ear. 

His touch is electric against her skin and she puts her hand over his, holds it to her neck to absorb the feeling of it. And she thinks this is the Quinn she’s known all along, that she just never let him care so much, always pushed him back beyond the boundary. 

But right now, looking at him, his hand on her neck, Carrie doesn’t know why she resisted it for so long. Impulsively she puts a little kiss on his palm, hopes he understands that she really does love him right now, just has no idea what to say. 

And he looks at her intently for another few breaths, then smiles and lets her go. Carrie backs off, immediately feels more at ease yet sad to step away. 

Quinn looks at her one last time, gives her his furtive smile. But all she can think is he can’t possibly want this, that he’s let the emotions of the day get to him. And that she can’t give him what he needs, that she’s bound to fuck it up as always. 

But it does feel good that he offered, that he is naive enough to think she can be counted on. So Carrie gives him a nervous smile, watches him drive away. Thinks that at the start of the day she would have been ecstatic just to know he was still alive, that he didn’t still hate her. Had fairly convinced herself she would never see him again, that he was done with her. 

And now he’s here and he wants to stay. 

Which just makes her question everything - what she wants, what she needs, who she is. Because it’s been a fucking hard year, even if she only just realized how bad things had gotten, how far she had gone, how much she owes him. And Carrie doesn’t at all know what she’s ready for, isn’t sure she’s willing to let him in, if she can let go of her lifestyle, step away from the job. 

But she does know it felt fucking good to see him, to hold him, to taste him. That he has been there for her, that she wants to be there for him. 

And most of all Carrie knows that she really does love him, is just sure it won’t be enough.


	11. 4.12.7

4.12.7

Quinn wakes with his heart in his throat, images of blood and fire just starting to fade, the panic of searching through charred remains still in his chest. 

Well, at least that hasn’t changed, he thinks to himself. Can’t remember the last time he didn’t wake up thinking she was dead. 

But at least this time he’s fairly certain the dream isn’t prophetic, that Carrie’s safely ensconced in her sister’s suburban home, hopefully sleeping a dreamless sleep. 

Quinn sits up, thinks about the previous day, feels a jitter in his chest as he remembers how fucking good it felt to hold her, the feeling of her mouth on his. He runs his hands through his hair, wonders if he pushed her too hard, too soon. He remembers driving away, equal parts nerves and excitement, still not quite believing he’d thrown it out there, voiced thoughts that he had never even allowed himself to acknowledge. 

And most of him knows exactly how ridiculous it is to have pinned his hope on Carrie, to think that she’s the one that can get him out. Because everything she said was true, that she hasn’t been at all helpful, that she is genuinely insane some of the time. 

But there had been something about the day, it had been dipped in hope. He had let down his guard and for once she was looking. And by now Quinn thinks he honestly can’t help it - that there’s an unknowable force that draws him to her, one that can only be resisted for so long. 

So he had thrown it out there, every one of his forbidden hopes. 

And now, well. He’s a bit fucking nervous, the magic of the previous day faded into his stark reality. Where his asshole boss is looking for him and his hope for the future is unreliable at best. 

Quinn picks up his phone, wonders if it’s too early to call her. Then thinks she wouldn’t hesitate to call him at any hour, that until today he wouldn’t think twice about it either. So he dials her number and it goes straight through to voicemail. 

He hangs up without leaving a message, tries again and gets the same result. He wonders if she let her phone die, then thinks that’s unlikely, has never happened with her before. 

And then of course he starts to wonder if something’s wrong, if his stupid fucking nightmare has finally come to pass. If life had thrown him a line just to yank it away. Because it would be so fitting, exactly as he deserves. 

Quinn tries to convince himself that he’s not worked up, that Carrie’s fine, that he hasn’t scared her off with his impromptu offer. Tells himself to give it a couple hours, that it’s still fucking early. 

So he gets up, makes coffee. Does his best not to think, not to wonder where the fuck she is, why she’s avoiding phone calls. Picks up the trash, thinks he can at least deal with that. 

But of course he walks out the door and straight into disaster.

*

Quinn’s been sitting on the stairs outside Maggie’s place for nearly an hour, hasn’t seen any sign of Carrie or her vehicle. No one else seems to be home either and he can’t decide if that’s a good sign or not. And her phone is still out of service so he’s more than a little tense by now.

Of course the impromptu poolside visit from earlier isn’t helping him relax either, has had him fucking tied up in all sorts of mental knots. Quinm keeps looking at the letters, hearing Rob tell him they’re twenty percent more likely to lose guys. Thinks someone powerful has it out for him, that this is his penance for ever thinking he was doing good by killing people. 

And now his every thought is coated in urgency, all the hope of the previous night disappearing fast. Because Carrie’s nowhere to be found and now he only has a day to make a life-altering decision that requires her fucking input. 

He’s avoiding all thoughts of the group, of being a quitter, of abandoning his team, the group, his brothers-in-arms. Because he knows where those thoughts end up - in a shithole in Aleppo, far away from the life he wants. 

So instead Quinn’s thinking through a thousand and two explanations for Carrie’s sudden disappearance, knows with her that absolutely anything could have happened. And he’s somewhere between psychotic break and international conspiracy when Maggie walks up, pushing Frannie in a stroller. 

She smiles when she sees him, does not seem to be in any panic. 

“Peter, hi!” she says. 

Quinn stands up, does his best to smile, look at ease. 

“Sorry to just show up like this,” he says. “But I’ve been trying to reach Carrie and her phone’s been off or out of service all day.” 

Maggie gives him a somewhat exasperated look, somewhere between amusement and irritation. 

“She’s gone to Missouri,” she says. “Off chasing ghosts.” 

Quinn frowns, wonders what part of his offer required a trip to Missouri. Thinks it’s bad fucking timing, that he needs her close enough to remind him of the dream.

“What’s in Missouri?” he asks. 

“Our mom,” Maggie replies. 

And Quinn thinks of course it’s something he would never have considered. Had never heard Carrie mention her mom, just knew she wasn’t around, hadn’t been around in a long time. 

“Oh, I didn’t know,” he says dumbly, can’t figure out what this has to do with anything. Other than to remind him that things are never easy with her, that everything is tinted with trouble.

But Maggie smiles at him, gives him a knowing look. 

“Carrie doesn’t talk about it much,” she says. 

“You mean at all,” he replies. Thinks of all the other things that Carrie doesn’t really talk about - anything personal, just little glimpses here and there. 

“She left when Carrie was eighteen, just before she was diagnosed. And we haven’t heard from her once. Until she showed up two days ago,” Maggie explains. 

And Quinn still has no idea what part this plays in the story but he recognizes that it’s significant. Thinks it can’t be coincidence that Carrie takes off on a crazy road trip the same day Rob shows up at his door. And of course the obvious sign is she’s fucking unreliable as ever, that he only hung his hopes on her out of sheer desperation. 

But he thinks there’s still just a shadow of hope left in the afternoon, knows he saw something in her that night, just can’t connect it to her sudden need to chase her mom down. 

“Why did she leave?” he asks. “Two days ago, I mean.” 

Maggie sighs, looks exasperated again. 

“Let’s just say Carrie didn’t give her the warmest welcome,” she replies. 

Quinn smirks at that, can’t help but imagine the scene. He’s sure she didn’t hold back at all, that her mom probably had to run for the door. 

“So what changed?” he asks. 

Maggie gives him another considered look, full of meaning he can’t quite read. 

“I’m not sure,” she says. “But something happened yesterday - she seemed different. Almost relaxed. Happy even. And then she was up all night looking at old pictures. Left first thing in the morning.”

Quinn exhales, tries to understand what any of this could mean. Thinks he should stop bothering Maggie with his own insecurities, that he’s got enough to find her if she doesn’t start answering her phone soon. 

So he nods, puts on a stiff smile. 

“Well,” he says. “Sorry to bother you then. I just wanted to make sure she’s alright.” 

Quinn goes to leave, but Maggie reaches out, stops him for a moment. 

“I know Carrie can be hard to deal with,” she says. “But she obviously cares about you. Probably more than you know.” 

He looks at Maggie, tries to believe what she’s saying. Gives her a hopeful smile and a nod before leaving, thinks he doesn’t know anything at all, that Carrie giving a shit about him still seems really fucking unlikely.

He goes back to his dark room, sits and thinks. Doesn’t call, doesn’t sleep. 

Quinn knows he will most likely go, that it will take a fucking miracle to keep him there. It’s his team and they need him. And if they fucking die out there he will spend the rest of his life paying the price. Especially if he’s here, in the relative comforts of home, living out his own personal impossible dream. 

And he doesn’t even know if she wants any part of it, if she thinks he’s mental for even suggesting it. Because most of him still can’t believe he put it out there, that he even got that far. 

The worst part is knowing he’s a fucking coward at heart, always going back for more. That he can’t get himself out so he’s trying to push Carrie into it, into something she’s clearly not ready for. Because how could she be - he’s only been letting himself think about it for about a day. And now Quinn thinks he’s totally blindsided her with a fucking outlandish proposal on the day of her father’s funeral, at a time when she has no foundation, nothing to build on. 

He knows its because he wants her to build on him, for them to finally start holding each other up instead of breaking each other down. Because if she lets herself rely on him then he might actually stick around. 

Quinn thinks she’s the only force strong enough to pull him away from the gravity of his usual ways, then tells himself he’s just fucking using her. But Carrie’s the only reason he has any hope at all, any possibility of getting out. 

Over and over the thoughts go around in his head as he watches the digital display of his clock flip through all the hours. Just another hopeless choice, disaster likely on either end. And when the first light seeps through the windows, hits his bleary eyes Quinn thinks at least he didn’t dream, didn’t wake up to the fear he lost her. 

Because maybe he already has and maybe he hasn’t. But at least she knows. And Quinn think it’s still better to have loved and lost, that one hope infused day could still end up making the difference. 

*

Carrie lies in the dingy motel bed, her head full of questions. 

She has a brother. One who looks to be about fifteen. And math isn’t her strong suit but she’s pretty sure it means he was born just after her mom left. Which brings her to a whole other set of questions.

Because of course she’s always wondered. Even though she’d been told it was because her dad was impossible to be with, that the bipolar had chased her away. But to leave without a fucking word, to never call - that was harsh, unforgivable. 

The hurt is intense, even after all these years. It’s just not something you get over - being abandoned by the person who’s supposed to care about you the most. 

She remembers it clearly. Being eighteen. Just a fucking kid. Locked in a mental ward and scared to shit, crying her way through every day. Ditched by her own fucking mom, the most alone she’s ever felt. And she still feels that today, knows it left her with a scar, an understanding that she’s alone in a world full of people that can’t deal with her shit. 

Carrie thinks briefly of the last time she’d held even a glimmer of hope. In Iran, at the safe house. Before the bomb, at the cabin. She’d been ready to give it all up for Brody, for the faintest possibility of love. But since then she’s wondered if it was exactly the unlikelihood of it that always drew her to him. If she was just following the pattern, looking for something that could never be. Setting herself up to fail.

But she really had loved him, as fucked up as he was, as fucked up as they were. And Carrie still thinks what she said at the safehouse is true - that the two of them were meant to play out a story. She just hadn’t seen the obvious - that the story was a tragedy. 

And now suddenly Carrie realizes she’s in the midst of another story, one that’s been playing out in the background. Because so much is exactly the same. Her relationship with Brody had been super-charged, magnetic. And above all, fucking complicated, twisted.  
 She’s been doing this with Quinn all along and just hadn’t seen it until now. It’s why friction invades their every interaction yet they keep coming back to each other. And now she wonders if it’s possible that this is the actual story, that Brody was just one act of the whole. 

Not that a relationship with Quinn would be any less complicated, as likely headed for disaster as anything. She knows she can’t just run away with him, thinks he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. 

Carrie sighs loudly. Tries remember why the hell she’s there, chasing answers that probably won’t change anything. But she thinks it can’t be a coincidence that this has all come up now just as she’s perched on the edge of possibility. 

For just an instant she feels the latent effects of the other day, the hope that he’d brought home with him. And all that friction had become heat, giving rise to absurd thoughts. Because she still can’t quite believe what he asked, that he would want to stick with her after everything he’s seen. 

And of course her phone rings just then. Carrie sits up and reaches for it, wonders if he’s going to be pissed off because she had her phone off for so long.

“Quinn,” she says, unsure of what to expect. 

“Hi,” he replies, gives her no clues. 

“Hey,” she parrots back, still not sure what to say. 

“There’s a rumour you’re in Missouri,” Quinn says. 

And she thinks of course he’s been looking for her, wonders what he thinks of her taking off the minute after he showed her his heart. She wishes she could actually tell him why she’s out there, what she’s looking for. That she’s there to challenge her truths, that she’s there because of his offer. But she can’t say any of those things, thinks that hasn’t changed at least. 

“Yeah,” Carrie replies. “I found out where my mom is.”

“And drove there,” he says, the question clear in his voice. 

“It’s out of the blue, I know. I should have called you, it’s just been... whirlwind,  she explains, trying to dodge the implicit question. 

“How are you?” she asks instead, changes the topic.

“I’m wondering about you,” Quinn replies. And she thinks of course he is, she’s wondering too. Why the fuck did she drive halfway across the country? He has to think she’s running from his question but Carrie knows she’s just looking for the answer. 

“Yeah, we should talk,” Carrie replies, knows how awkward she sounds. “Obviously.” 

“You want me to join you?” he asks unexpectedly. “I could fly out.”

And she didn’t see that coming at all, is immediately both touched and terrified by the concept. It’s that thing he does - gives a shit. But she knows she can’t let him come out there, is uncomfortable with just being there alone dealing with her mom issues. Because as much as he knows of her, she can’t let Quinn in on any of this crap yet, can’t let him know he’s barely scratched the surface on her problems. 

But still there is something incredibly inviting about his offer. And a nagging feeling that tells her to just throw caution to the wind, allow him into her life. 

She pauses for a long breath. And then chickens out, falls back into old patterns. 

“Uh no,” she finally answers. “No.”

Carrie thinks that will be the end of it, that he will get what she’s saying - that she can’t just open herself up right now. 

But Quinn, as ever, pushes, asks if she’s sure. 

And of course she isn’t at all sure but she’s made her choice, can’t turn back. It would be too much too soon, impossible to deal with.

“Yeah, I’m kind of in the middle of something,” Carrie says, trying her best to explain. “I have a brother, it turns out.”

“What?” Quinn asks, sounds sufficiently surprised. And she hopes he gets it, that it’s just too much for her to throw him into the mix right now.   “Yeah,” she replies. “See I’ve a lot to deal with, I can’t think about anything else right now.” 

And of course he hears exactly what she’s saying, clearer than she meant to make it. She can hear it in his voice, the tight camber in tone.

“Hey look if it’s a no, just say,” he says, obviously trying to keep the emotion out of his words. 

And she thinks fuck, Quinn. I can’t give you a fucking answer when I don’t know the answer myself. She just has no idea, her mind jammed full with possibilities, failures, and question upon question. 

“It’s not,” she retorts anxiously. Doesn’t want him to give up hope, thinks it’s still possible but she just has to know it’s not going to end in disaster. That she’s not fucking things up between them forever. 

“I.. I just.. have been dealing with this other stuff.”

“No problem,” Quinn says but she hears the stiffness in his words. 

Carrie wants to reassure him but she’s trying not to lie to him anymore. And she can’t quite help but think he’s making a mistake, acting on impulse because he’s desperate to get out. If only he didn’t sound so upset by it all. If he didn’t fucking care so much. 

“Look at me Quinn, I’m on a crazy road trip like my dad used to take,” she sighs, trying to make him see exactly where the problems lie. 

“I’m no good for you or anyone else.” 

“So it is a no,” he says right back. And she wonders why he’s so determined to get it out of her now, thinks there’s something not quite right with him. He seems on edge, flickering. 

“I didn’t say that,” Carrie retorts. Though she knows she is setting him up for the likelihood. But she also knows she needs more than a day to decide something like this, that it’s all happening way too quickly, out of the blue. 

“Don’t pressure me okay?”

“Okay,” Quinn answers. And she thinks he gets it this time, that he’s asking too much of her in the moment. 

But still she knows in her gut there’s something there, that she’s missing a piece of the situation. Because Quinn is just a bit off kilter and she’s pretty sure it’s not just because she ran on him. He has to be used to that kind of shit with her now, can’t possibly have thought one fucking good day would change that up. 

But Carrie was being honest when she said she can only think of one of these things at a time. And she’s due to meet her mom, has too much on her mind already without worrying about what’s wrong with Quinn. She will deal with him when she gets back, hopefully have some sort of answer for him by then. Maybe even be able to explain why she took off, let him in on a little more of her stuff. 

“Look, I gotta go,” she says. “I’ll be back in a few days, we’ll talk then.”

“Right,” Quinn replies, sounding resigned, tired. 

And once again Carrie wonders what the fuck she’s doing here, why she had to start right up with the crazy shit after such an unexpectedly good day. But she knows she needs some answers and she drove all the way to Missouri to get them. So Quinn will have to wait, no matter how twitchy he sounds, no matter how bad she feels. 

So Carrie says bye; thinks, well fuck, that went about as well as she imagined.


	12. 4.12.8

4.12.8

Quinn hangs up, drops his phone. Feels disappointed, dejected - yet he knows he’s being unreasonable, rash. But it’s only because he’s desperate and reaching, looking for the one thing that can keep him off that plane. 

He closes his eyes, rubs his hands through his hair. Wonders if Carrie heard the urgency in him, thinks she must have. But he knows she has other things on her mind, that her impromptu trip to Missouri indicates exactly what she was saying to him the other night - that she is unreliable, that he shouldn’t lay his hopes on her. 

Quinn thinks back to their conversation, at how pathetic he imagines he sounded. And he’s not often embarrassed but now he looks back and wonders what the hell he was thinking. Offering to fly out, and then what? 

It was ridiculous, even if she’d said yes. Which he knew she wouldn’t, not with something personal. It’s the boundary between them, the one she keeps everything behind, the way she keeps anyone from getting close. It wasn’t going to dissolve just with one day, a magic night. But he’d thrown it out there because it was his only glimmer of hope - that she’d say yes and he’d go, wouldn’t have to make the hard decision. 

But this time Carrie’s right - he’s pressuring her and its not fair to push her into committing to something she’s barely had time to think about. Especially with everything that’s happened - Islamabad, her dad dying, this crazy shit with her mom. Not to mention this sudden shift in the thing between them. 

Quinn sighs, physically feels the distance between them as he thinks about her, remembers the feeling of having her in his arms. And he thinks how much he wants it, this elusive closeness with her, this expansion of possibility in their relationship. Because some of it’s always been there - he recalls their first few encounters, how he was immediately struck with her antagonism, drawn to her energy. But to ask her to run away with him, offer her the unknown so suddenly. It’s unreasonable for him to think she would even want it, much less be able to commit to it with only a day to consider. 

And the truth is Quinn doesn’t know if he would ever be able to do it. Even if Carrie were to call back right away, give him a firm yes. But he does know it would be impossible without her, that his only chance just hung up the line. 

Because Quinn knows who he is, has examined each of his deficiencies numerous times. And he is, at heart, a soldier. Finds it almost impossible to say no when he’s called to duty. It’s what always fucks him in the end - his loyalty to the guys who have had his back on every op, who have saved his life countless times. He’s just never been ready to be the guy at home with the letters, wondering if his presence would have saved his buddy’s life. 

So he had tried to replace his duty, tried to pin it on Carrie, make it so he has an obligation to her. Because he knows his desire to care for her is the only thing strong enough to keep him away from the group, that she’s the only one that can pull him out.

But he also knows it’s out of line to expect this of her, that he shouldn’t be counting on her to get him out of a situation that’s his own fucking problem. And even worse, Quinn realizes he’s being unfair to her by not telling her about the situation but that it would be equally unfair if he did tell her. Because it would force her hand even more, push her into something that she’s not ready for. Which is the last thing he wants - to drag Carrie into his personal spiral of despair, to use her for his own salvation. 

Quinn takes a deep breath, knows his decision has been made. He feels the queasiness in his gut, the familiar guilt, the searing burn of self-hatred. 

It’s still hard to admit to himself that this is who he is, that he’s unlikely to ever escape this pattern. For one night he actually held hope in his arms, physically felt the possibility of something else. Someone to love, to care for. Life instead of death. 

But now, sitting by himself in a darkening room, Quinn wonders what the hell he’d been on. Thinks now that he’d made it all up, fooled himself by letting his emotions run around unrestrained. 

Asking Carrie to run away with him, start a new life without the specter of death, hate, lies. Clearly the last ditch actions of a wretched man. 

Quinn thinks about her now, in Missouri, trying to figure out her past, her future. She’s at a crossroads, as unsure as he’s ever seen her. And he knows it has something to do with what he asked, just isn’t sure how it all fits together. But regardless, he no longer wants her to decide, knows he’ll feel guilty even if she chooses him. 

The indigo of evening is starting to drip through the blinds as Quinn feels the hollow of his despair settle in. He pictures Carrie, feels a flash of longing, tries to ignore a throe of desire. He wonders how pissed she’ll be when she finds out, thinks she might just be glad to be off the hook. It’s impossible to predict with her - especially now that she’s rethinking her priorities, finding her way back to herself.

He imagines that at worst she’ll be upset when she figures it out. But with everything else in her life right now he figures she’ll be able to let it go quickly, probably be over it before he’s made it to Aleppo. Because as much as he believes she really was worried about him, Quinn also thinks it was just a momentary thing, that she was only so concerned about losing him because she had already lost so much. And he had somehow almost turned that moment of vulnerability into a lifelong commitment, caught Carrie off guard with his wild offer. 

But now he’s come back down to earth, knows this is what he has to do. Let her off easy, give her a way out. Because it’s sounding like a no anyhow. He thinks it’s the only honourable thing to do now, hopes she understands his gesture, that she doesn’t blame herself. 

Quinn stands up, paces and breathes. Realizes what he needs to do, isn’t sure he knows what to say. Looks at the time, reluctantly picks up a piece of paper. 

He stares at the blank page for awhile, awash with emotion. Hates himself for doing this, would hate himself if he didn’t. She isn’t ready. And apparently he isn’t either. He’s running and he knows it. Taking the easy way out. 

Then, if he makes it back. Well, maybe then. But knowing them, probably never. 

Quinn shakes his head, takes a deep breath, tries to push away the feeling of futility. Thinks he’s never done this before and he’s got to get it right. Takes another breath, then finally sits down with a pen. 

He thinks about Carrie, about what the hell he can say to her. There’s never been that much to say between them really, just something fucking intangible. And he knows he doesn’t exactly express himself well, has been told numerous times. 

Writes slow, cautiously. Does not want to fuck it up.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

c,

If you’re reading this, you know what it means. Don’t blame yourself, I was reaching and we both know it. It wasn’t fair to push you into something you’re not ready for, something you haven’t had time to think about. And I didn’t tell you it was a time sensitive issue. So that’s on me. 

I’ve tried to get out before and it never took so don’t think it was because of you. This is the choice I’ve always made, the same as you. It’s part of what I love in you, most of what I hate in me. I hate myself for leaving now but I owe it to my team.

I know I should stay and try. Maybe I can’t ever be the guy that sits out, delivers the letters. But I want it. I wanted it with you. To be the guy that stays home, protects his family. We just weren’t ready, either of us. It’s not the first time I fucked things up but now I guess it’s the last. 

I’m sorry Carrie. For dreaming, for thinking that things could be different. But we both know this is who we are. Just know I thought about you every minute along the way. And that I really do fucking love you. I think I always have. 

yours forever.  
q

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Quinn puts down the pen, pretends to himself it isn’t a tear forming in the corner of his eye. Rereads it once then folds it quickly, closes the envelope and scrawls her name on it before he can think, change his mind. 

Hardest part done, he grits his teeth, runs his hands through his hair. Tries to put her out of his mind even though he knows it’s impossible. 

He lets himself sit for a moment, enveloped in guilt, longing, love, self-hatred. But the choice has been made so Quinn disconnects his phone, packs his one bag, says a silent goodbye. 

******

The words keep ringing through her head as she leaves her mom’s place, drives back to the motel. 

It’s possible. 

It’s the first time Carrie’s thought those words without feeling like she’s lying to herself. The only time in her adult life she’s really let herself believe. 

She realizes all her hope has been frozen for so long, accumulating into a glacier of impossible love. And now it’s just started to melt; she feels the drips splash up against the protective wall she’s built up. 

But the effect it’s having on her is seismic, rocks her very foundation. Because everything Carrie’s always understood about herself, her condition, is being challenged. That she may not be fundamentally flawed, that love doesn’t have to be a curse. 

And really it’s all too much, overwhelming in every way. To have to toss out old truths, consider new ones. Carrie doesn’t know what to do with any of it. But she knows where to start. 

She gets to her room, packs up and pulls out her phone. Thinks she needs to talk to him right away, let him know she’s thinking about him, that she’s on her way back. Tell him that maybe can become yes, that she’s seeing things in a different light. 

Dials twice, gets an out of service recording both times. Texts and gets the same result. 

The gears are starting to turn in her head by then; an ominous cloud gathers in her chest. 

Carrie thinks how Quinn sounded off on the call earlier, how there was a dull edge to his voice she couldn’t quite define. But she had blown it off, had other things on her mind. Which is fucking fitting, how it always goes with her. Yet this time she had wanted things to change, wanted to write an alternate ending. 

But now he’s gone, just like she predicted. Another self-fulfilling prophecy - no wonder she’s always believed in her fatal flaw.

And she knows he’s still in a volatile state of mind, heading somewhere fucking dangerous. Pictures him, all guilt and desperation, running from a futile hope. Thinks there’s got to be a way to let him know, at least tell him that she wants it, that she is willing to try.

Carrie knows it’s probably too late but she calls Adal, predictably gets his voicemail. Grabs her bag and stalks out the door, her head filled with desperate thoughts, determined to somehow make this right. 

*

Carrie drives and fumes, knows it’s the only way to keep the tears at bay. She’s angry at Quinn for leaving, at Adal for taking him from her, at her mom for everything, at herself for being so wrong all this time. 

She knows she missed her chance, that his call was a cry for help and she blatantly ignored it - the way she always does. And she’s pissed at him for not saying so, for not letting her know that the options were committing to him or possibly never seeing him again. But she also knows he would never have pushed her into it like that, that she should have read a little more into the slight desperation he was showing. 

And it was just a matter of hours. Just enough time for her to rethink everything she’s known since she was eighteen. Open herself up to the possibility she saw in him, the ones she’s just starting to see in herself. 

But of course, as soon as Carrie realizes she really wants this with him, he’s gone. Possibly forever. Just as she was ready to help, try and pull him from the brink instead of constantly pushing him deeper into the hole. She still doesn’t know if she could do it but she had been willing to chance it on the smallest sliver of hope. 

And now Quinn’s gone and all Carrie’s left with is a pervasive sense of guilt and uncertainness. Thinks she needs something to back onto, to hold her up. Realizes of course it’s Quinn she wants, needs. Thinks he’s the only one that can help her find her way in this new reality. But of course she fucked it up before it even started. 

Carrie can’t believe she’s spent her life thinking it was the disorder that kept her relationships from working when it was just her. It’s so obvious now when she realizes it, makes her think it probably wouldn’t have worked anyways. All that baggage, the shit she’s carried with her. It doesn’t just disappear overnight. 

There’s so much to consider she doesn’t know where to start. Carrie drives, tries to keep him off her mind but it’s impossible, he’s right at the forefront of all her regrets. 

She can’t believe she never saw any of it, that his staying was anything other than overly-concerned masochism, that she really fucking cared about him. It wasn’t until he lost it on her at the end there, that look in his eyes that said he was going to die trying. It was only then that she realized she would do anything to keep him safe, bring him back. Risk her life, give up Haqqani, swallow every bitter pill from their time in Islamabad. Because Quinn’s existence was worth more than any of that - her life, their assets, her pride. 

And then that other day was a scene from an alternate reality life. Where Quinn showed up at exactly the right moment, when every guard was down. Then fucking kissed her and asked her to run away with him.

It came out of the blue for her - she thinks he even surprised himself, got caught up in dreams, the fairy dust of the moment. And it’s not like they could just be normal citizens, play house in suburbia.

Carrie wonders if that’s why he left, if he remembered, once sober, how unreliable she is. Or if he just can’t escape the demon that pushes him back in every time - because he was clearly grasping at straws trying to rely on her. 

And obviously Carrie also wonders why the fuck she didn’t just said yes, why she hadn’t read the muted plea in his words. Has another flash of anger at him for not fucking telling her that he was getting on a plane if she didn’t say yes then and there. Because she would have at least fucking tried then, anything to stop him from falling back into the life he hates. 

But obviously he’d been too honourable to do that to her, fucking Quinn with his inability to just tell her things. Always having to read between the lines with that one, Carrie thinks. No wonder she didn’t see it coming. Well, that and she was so caught up in all her own shit as usual, totally oblivious to her effect on anyone else. 

And now she lost him because she was dealing with herself, needing her space. Couldn’t see it was his desperation pushing him, that she needed to respond. 

Carrie thinks how she wasn’t ready for any of this, for things to change with Quinn, to lose him again after just getting him back. That it’s the wrong time to finally realize she needed him this whole time, that this was why she kept him with her, torturing him in her own careless way. 

And of course he stuck with her, saw it through to the end.

You’re a good man, Peter Quinn, Carrie thinks to herself as the road flies by, leaving a trail of regrets. 

I hope I can make this all up to you someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nearing the end... sure wonder what that boy's up to in Syria!


	13. 4.12.9

4.12.9

Carrie pulls up at Dar Adal’s place after driving through the night, busy churning her guilt and regret into anger. Determined to fix this thing she’s fucked up, no matter what it takes. Even a deal with the fucking devil himself, anything to at least tell him she was going to give it a try, that he has to get home alive or she’s going to lose her fucking mind. 

She rings the bell twice, finally sees him come to the door. 

“A call back would have been nice,” she starts, already getting worked up. 

“You were the one who was supposed to be in touch with me after you heard from Peter,” Adal shoots back. 

Which is true. But as if either of them believed she was going to do that. Quinn is hers now, hasn’t been Adal’s guy in a long time. 

“Where is he?” she asks, does and doesn’t want to know the answer. 

“Not out here,” Adal replies, leads her into his place. 

“Where is he?” she asks again, right away.

Adal tells her Quinn’s probably on the Turkish border, about to cross over into Syria. And Carrie thinks of course, he’s only going to the most dangerous place on the planet right now. Thinks she has to get word to him before he’s in Syria, tell him to fucking stop running. 

“I need to speak to him,” Carrie says, knows that’s the most she can possibly ask for at the moment. 

“Impossible,” Adal replies. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” she snaps at him. “If he’s on a mission there’s a way to reach him.” 

But of course Adal says they went dark over an hour ago, that they aren’t even meant to fucking check in, that the mission is open-ended, a matter of self extraction. From fucking Syria of all places. Or Iraq. As if that was any better. 

“I need to speak to Quinn,” she demands, knows there has to be a fucking way. 

“And I said no,” Adal counters, in that infuriating way of his. 

Carrie feels the pressure in her head, her chest. Thinks it’s fucking time to pull out the big guns, show him she’s serious about this. 

“I saw you in Islamabad,” she says. 

And for once Adal doesn’t have anything to say, just glares at her suspiciously. 

“In the back of an SUV with Haissan Haqqani,” she finishes. 

“What are you playing at Carrie?” Adal finally says, trying to sound threatening. 

“I call it give me what I fucking want!” she fires back. Thinks how arguing with Adal is worse than beating her head against a concrete wall. 

“You’re not listening, I can’t,” he replies.   
 Carrie’s sure he’s fucking lying, trying his best to keep her from Quinn. She knows Adal’s always had it out for her, has only recently understood it’s mostly because of Quinn, that Adal thinks she unmade his perfect soldier. 

“I will leave here and go straight to the Washington Post,” she states, knows she has to find some way to find a crack in Adal, get what she needs out of him. 

“No you won’t,” he counters. 

And she wonders why the fuck he would think that, thinks he doesn’t at all know what she’s feeling, how much she needs this. 

“Watch me,” she snaps back. 

“You might consider talking to Saul before you do. He’d explain to you what’s at stake here,” Adal says in his knowing, smug tone. 

Which really fucking lights the fire under her, reinforces the fact that Adal, and by extension the fucking CIA, really is willing to forgo any semblance of decency. That their people mean nothing at all, that it’s all about the bullshit game where everybody loses and almost everyone dies. 

“I know what’s at stake. You make a deal with Haqqani, you dishonour every officer, every soldier at the embassy who died at his hands,” she retorts. “Saul would spit in your face.”

And for once Adal doesn’t have anything to say. But he’s still wearing that smug look as he walks over and opens the patio door. 

Carrie watches him warily, wonders what he’s got up his sleeve. Because with Adal it could be anything - the man has no morals and plenty of resources. 

“Ask him yourself,” he finally says, points out the door. 

Carrie walks out, her head full of questions, contradictions. Sees Saul sitting by the pool, stares at him as he stands up and faces her. 

Saul doesn’t say anything at all, doesn’t even look guilty. And all she can do is stare at this man she thought she knew. Her mentor. Someone she’s always respected, loved even. 

To the point where she saved his life in the worse possible way. Only to be standing there now, unsure of what to believe anymore. Because the man she knew could not, would not do this. Make a deal with Haqqani just to put himself back in power, disgrace the memories of all who died. 

Carrie turns and leaves, gets in her car and sits, unable to process the thoughts pouring through her mind. Blinks back the tears, still can’t believe how absolutely everything in her life has gone to shit in such a short time. 

Now she’s really and truly alone, lost, afloat. All her anchors, gone. Dad. Saul. Quinn. 

And it’s never been a problem before, she’s always been on her own. But never more so than now. 

*

Carrie parks in front of Maggie’s place, still feels numb, shell-shocked even after driving around aimlessly all afternoon, unsure of where to go, what to do. She stares at the house anxiously, does not want to have to talk to Maggie, explain what the hell happened. 

Because she has no real explanation for any of it, can’t even understand it herself. But she has to go in, at least let Maggie know she’s back. And she wants to see Frannie, has only got one thing to hold onto now. 

So Carrie walks in, sees Maggie in the kitchen cleaning up. And it immediately brings back the emotions of the other night, reminds her sharply that he’s gone, that she missed her chance. 

Maggie looks up, smiles.

“How did everything go?” she asks, innocent and hopeful as usual. 

And Carrie barely manages to pull back the tears, grits her teeth, bites her lip hard. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters quickly, flashes Maggie a meaningful look. 

Thankfully her sister knows her well enough not to push it, just frowns and gives Carrie a concerned look which she avoids by quickly heading up the stairs. 

Frannie is awake in her crib, stares up at Carrie as she picks her up, lets the tears start to slide. She sits down with Frannie curled up in her arms, her small being of warmth, still made of innocence and hope. 

Carrie cries and thinks. About the irony of life, about all her regrets. How none of this would have come to be if she hadn’t regretted Frannie in the first place, if she hadn’t fucked it all up. 

She hasn’t sobbed this hard in years, not since she lost it all in the first place, lost her job, her love, her life. Not even when Brody died, when all she could feel was denial, a numb pervasive sadness. 

But now it’s all fucking gone, everything she’s ever known, believed in. Her dad, who believed in her until the end, who loved her more than she could ever accept. Saul, who she’s always fucking respected, trusted to do the right thing. Quinn, who came back for her when she was at her worst, stuck around through the worst of it. 

And now she has no idea what the right thing is anymore, how they can do any good at all with the endless cycle of deceit, double-dealing, death. Which is what Quinn was trying to tell her all along. That despite all their good intentions they really are bad guys who just keep doing more harm, hurting themselves along the way. 

All she knows is she has one to protect, two to love. One in her arms, the other on the ground, somewhere fucking dangerous. And maybe he is a bad guy, kills for a living. But he’s also compassionate, selfless. Someone who does what’s right no matter the personal cost. 

The tears just keep coming as Carrie pictures him in the charred rubble of Syria, insurgents, rebels, jihadists at every turn. Knows it’s her turn now, that she has to look out for him, fucking bring him home, give him one more chance at getting out. No matter what it takes, however many toes she has to step on, arms she has to twist, rules she has to break. Because in all the bullshit she’s finally figured out it’s all that matters. 

Someone who sees her, who’s stuck by her, who fucking cares. And Carrie doesn’t know what will happen when she gets him back, if he’ll have changed his mind, come to his senses. But she does know she already misses him, that it felt good, right, to be tucked up against him. And with everything else she’s lost she absolutely cannot lose him too.

******

It’s dark on the plane, quiet except for the occasional spark of banter between the guys - the usual shit about fucking each others’ girlfriends, sucking Adal’s dick, killing jihadis. But they aren’t young grunts on their first mission - it’s all old hat to them, no illusions, no nerves in the air. 

Well except for his, of course. Though he’s not nervous in the regular sense, just on emotional overload, his every nerve ending over-taxed with thoughts of Carrie, of everything he’s running from.

Quinn runs his hands through his hair, looks out the window at the bleakness of his future. On the ground in Syria, doing what he’s always done, what he does best. He tries to tell himself it’s what he was made for, to be on his own, kill the bad guys. Though of course he knows it’s a self-told lie, that good and bad are unrealistic distinctions. That the more good he tries to do the worse he ends up feeling about himself. 

He hears footsteps in the aisle, ignores them as he has the whole trip. Knows he hasn’t said much to the guys, hasn’t shared in any of the natural camaraderie that occurs when the group gets back together again. But Quinn’s always been the quiet one and he figures they don’t give a shit, that they know what they are getting from him, that they didn’t bring him along for his charming personality. 

But of course Rob sits down right next to him and Quinn can feel his team leader’s eyes blazing into him as he tries to look him off, keeps gazing out the window. 

“So what changed, douchebag?” Rob asks, his voice low enough to keep the conversation to themselves. 

Of course it’s exactly the question that needs to be asked. And Quinn knows Rob deserves an answer, that he needs to have the pulse of his entire team before they’re on the ground. But it’s not the sort of thing he can talk about, especially not with the guys. 

So he doesn’t reply, just looks out the window some more. Hears Rob grunt, feels his stony stare. Waits for him to leave but he doesn’t, just sits there expectantly, as if he’s going to get a response. 

And finally Quinn gives in, can’t bear the feeling of being watched any longer.

“I wanted something I can’t have,” he mutters, flashing Rob a dark look. “So I ran.” 

Which is exactly the truth. He wanted out, he wanted her. Yet he can have neither - doesn’t deserve anything except this, exactly what he’s got. And Carrie? Well. He’ll probably never know what she wanted, if she could have saved him. 

It just went to show that he was exactly the person he thought he was. Trying to use her to pull him out, pushing her towards something that would have just hurt her in the end. So now he has that to regret as well. 

And what’s worse is he still wants it, can’t fucking let it go even after he’s made his choice. No wonder Rob thinks he’s a head case. 

Rob looks at him seriously, takes it all in. And Quinn wonders what he sees, if his buddy observes his barely hidden despair. 

Finally Rob raises his eyebrows, gives him a laser look.

“Well snap out of it or you won’t make it back to tell her how you fucked up,” he says brusquely as he gets up and vacates the seat. 

Quinn looks back towards the window, doesn’t acknowledge Rob’s remark. Yet he knows it’s true, that he can’t be thinking about any of this shit by the time they hit the ground. If his head isn’t in the game he’s already a dead man walking. 

He thinks how pissed off Carrie will be if he dies over there, imagines that his personal karma will be well into the negatives. By now she obviously knows he’s gone, that he’s a fucking coward, always has been. And maybe she’s so angry he ditched that she won’t even give a shit by the time he’s blown to pieces, riddled with bullets. 

Quinn closes his eyes and ruminates on the futility of his life, the endless treadmill of death. Thinks how he spent months in Islamabad against his every inclination, intuition. To fight with her, to be there for her, to find the Carrie he thinks he might love. And then to leave just as they were finally perched on a possibility. To chicken out, fall back into his pattern. 

And now he’s on the fucking plane, has made his choice. Wonders what will happen if he makes it back, if he’ll ever see her again. If she’ll have disowned him by then, given up on the flicker of whatever it is between them. Or if that fucking thing between them will even still be there, somehow survive through the distance, through all of their doubt.

Quinn sighs, wonders what could possibly become of them. Most likely a fucking nuclear meltdown. World War III. Probably nothing good. 

Yet he knows he fucking wants it, wants to at least try. That if anyone can get him out it’s Carrie, that her fucking interminable spirit is half of what’s kept him together these last few years. Half of what’s blown him apart too but that’s just part of the deal.

And he knows he can’t keep thinking about her, that he’s got to focus on the mission, that he’s there for his team, his brothers-in-arms. Yet Quinn grimaces to himself, thinks really could be it, his last op. Because his head isn’t in the game anymore and that’s a sure sign to get out while he still can. 

So he looks out the window at the night sky above Turkey, thinks about the past few years, especially the past few months. How it’s been hell but he’s held on for a reason. And now he’s fucking it all up again. 

As the plane starts to descend Quinn packs it all away, locks up all mental flashes of brazen blonde. Tells himself he’s on an op now, that there’s no more fucking around. 

But this time, if he makes it back, he’s done running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's over! so sad. let speculation on syria and the far future begin...


End file.
